


Love Don't Die

by Finduilas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent & Derek Hale Friendship, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Angst, Bee-Keeper Stiles Stilinski, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Stiles, Derek Hale & Sheriff Stilinski Bonding, Derek making life and death decisions, Divergent ending, First Kiss, First Time, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Longing and pining, M/M, Magic, Mention of Claudia Stilinski's death, Mention of Talia Hale's death, Minor background Melissa pre-slash, No Major Character Death, No knowledge of Pushing Daisies needed before reading, No permanent character death of the main characters, Phone Sex, Pie-maker Derek Hale, Pies, Private Investigator Allison Argent, Pushing Daisies AU, Romance, Roscoe is a dog, Slow Build, Supernatural Elements, Talk of bottom!Derek, Touch-Starved, Very minor background Scallison pre-slash, pushing daisies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1474861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finduilas/pseuds/Finduilas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is nine years old when he discovers the gift that he's been given. A gift that he didn't necessarily ask for. Derek can touch dead things and bring them back to life. But not without consequences and conditions, many of which are heartbreaking. </p><p>Many years later, his path crosses that of his childhood sweetheart, Stiles, in very unfortunate circumstances. But now, Derek's gift gives him the power to save Stiles. And damned be the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Don't Die

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Space and Juu for the encouragement, the hand-holding, the Beta, and just for being incredible human beings. Many thanks to Sab for teaching me how to Photoshop a bit so I could make [this Tumblr post](http://finduilasclln.tumblr.com/post/82917224995/love-dont-die-a-pushing-daisies-au-derek-is). 
> 
> This is an AU based on the tv-show Pushing Daisies. But you can read this fic without any prior knowledge of the show! (As both Juu and Space did, and they made sure everything was clear for people like them who didn't know the premise of the show) I would like to clarify that NONE of the main characters have a permanent death in this fic. This is NOT a death fic. So no worries there! 
> 
> If you know the show, you will notice that the small intro of this fic is largely based on the intro of the show. Some of the dialog/storylines of the show will be somewhat recognizable, mostly in the beginning. However, the longer the fic goes on, the more it starts alternating from the actual show.

_At this very moment in the town of Beacon Hills, young Derek was 9 years, 27 weeks, 6 days and 3 minutes old. His dog Roscoe was 3 years, 2 weeks, 6 days, 5 hours and 9 minutes old._

 

_And not a minute older._

_For in that moment, Roscoe was hit by a truck while he was out running and playing with Derek. Shocked and heartbroken, the young boy kneeled next to the lifeless dog’s body, carefully petting his friend one last time, only to have Roscoe spring back to life under the touch._

_This was the moment Derek realized he wasn’t like the other children. Nor was he like anyone else for that matter. Derek could touch dead things and bring them back to life. This touch was a gift given to him, but not by anyone in particular. There was no box, no instructions, no manufacturer’s warranty. It just was._

_The terms of use weren’t immediately clear nor were they of immediate concern to Derek. Because Derek was in love._

_His name was Stiles. At this very moment, he was 8 years, 42 weeks, 3 hours and 2 minutes old. Derek did not think of him as being born or hatched or conceived in any way. Stiles came ready-made from the Play-Doh Fun Factory of Life. In their imaginations, young Derek and a boy named Stiles conquered the world._

_In the house right next to Derek and his mother’s, lived Stiles and his parents. As his mother baked pies, Derek would stare out the window at Stiles playing in the front yard, his mother tending to the garden. Long after their playdate was over, Derek remained under Stiles’ spell until… a blood vessel in Derek’s mother’s brain burst, killing her instantly._

_The memory of Roscoe fresh in his mind, Derek sat down on the floor next to his mother’s motionless body, and gently touched her cheek. She jumped to life in an instant, laughing off having “slipped and fell” on the kitchen floor, giving Derek a broad smile as she did. Unknowing that the seconds on the clock ticked further…_

_Because Derek’s random gift that was, came with a caveat or two. It was a gift that not only gave… It took. Derek discovered he could only bring the dead back to life for one minute without consequence, any longer and someone else had to die. Much to the disfortune of Stiles’ mother._

_In the grand universal scheme of things Derek had traded his mother’s life for Stiles’ mother’s._

_But there was one more thing about touching dead things that Derek didn’t know. And he learned it in the most unfortunate way._

_That evening, Derek’s mother tucked him into bed, leaning over to give him a kiss on the forehead. A fatal kiss. Derek’s mother fell to floor, cold, pale. And no matter how many times Derek tried to touch her, she didn’t spring back to life._

_First touch: life. Second touch: dead again, forever._

_And so it came to be that both Derek and Stiles lost their mothers on the same day._

_After a brief mourning period, Derek’s uncle Peter would hustle him off to boarding school, never to be seen again. Stiles would stay with his father, the lovable Sheriff of Beacon Hills._

_At their respective parents’ funerals, dizzy with grief and curiosity, Derek and a boy named Stiles had their first and only kiss._

_After his mother’s death, Derek avoided social attachments fearing what he’d do if someone else he loved died._

_***_

_It’s 14 years, 34 weeks, one day and 59 minutes later, heretofore known as now. And young Derek has become the Pie-Maker._

***

 

“I do have an actual day job, you know?” Derek says, flattening out the dough on the counter.

 

“But lets be real,” Allison smiles as she picks up one of the strawberries from the bowl, “What gives you the most satisfaction? Making pies? Or solving deaths?”

 

Derek gives her a look as he moves the bowl a little further away from her reach. “You’d be surprised.”

 

“I have never seen anyone so reluctant of their gift,” Allison shakes her head, biting the strawberry in two.

 

“If I could, I’d return it,” Derek sighs, even though they’ve had this conversation a million times over. “I can’t even pet my own dog.”

 

Roscoe’s ears perk up from where he’s laying on the kitchen floor, twitching his nose at Derek. Derek gives him a soft smile. Allison promptly crouches down next to Roscoe, scratching him behind his ears. “Granted, that is pretty sad for both of you.” Roscoe makes a satisfied noise as Allison continues to dote upon him. “But think of all the closure you’re bringing to the people that need it,” Allison continues.

 

“Do you?” Derek asks her, sprinkling more flour over the dough. “Or is it more the money they’re paying you as a cheating private detective?”

 

“That’s unfair,” Allison says, stealing another strawberry from the bowl, only just missing a slap on the hand by Derek. “Your pie shop was on the verge of bankruptcy before you decided to work with me. And also, it’s not cheating. I’m just using the supernatural advantages that have crossed my path. People don’t care how you solve their cases, as long as you do.”

 

“‘Deciding to work with you’ is taking a bit of artistic liberty,” Derek says, since Allison didn’t exactly need to use a whole lot of persuasion after she was the first and only to discover Derek’s secret - after Roscoe, that is.

 

“I told you I wasn’t going to tell anyone,” Allison says, “But come on, this is a pretty sweet gig. You just talk to the zombie for a minute, figure out what really happened, and we both collect the money. Everyone happy.”

 

“Can you not call ‘em zombies?” Derek asks, giving a look at Roscoe.

 

“‘kay, sorry,” Allison says, scratching her fingers under Roscoe’s neck, who’s wagging his tail excitedly.

 

Derek sidesteps the dog on his way to the oven. Roscoe knows not to make a movement towards Derek, having understood the severity of the consequences a long time ago. Derek never quite understood how a dog could realize his life depended on not coming within the touch of his owner ever again, but he figures animals are perceptive that way. Derek is lucky he only has to be careful for Roscoe. People that have never been dead - oh boy, isn’t that just a testament to how strange his life is? - he can touch without a problem.

 

“You’re not a zombie,” Allison coos at Roscoe, flapping his ears up.

 

“Who’s a zombie now?” Scott asks as he steps into the kitchen, a stack of dishes in his hands.

 

“Nobody,” Derek hastens to say, because ‘hey, I can bring people back from the dead’ is not exactly the easiest thing to explain to your waiter - slash - friend.

 

“Just a movie that I saw,” Allison shrugs it off, smiling at Scott as he dumps the dirty plates in the sink.

 

Scott beams back at her, then nods towards Derek. “Did he at least offer you a slice of pie already?”

 

“She’s been eating my ingredients right out of the bowl since she got here,” Derek sighs, but he lets Scott serve Allison a big slice of her favorite pie on the house anyway.

 

Derek steps into the restaurant, leaving Scott and Allison to their flirting for a while. Allison leaves The Pie Hole a bit later, and Derek is surprised when she’s back again after lunch.

 

“What are you doing here again?” Derek frowns at her, and she nods her head towards one of the empty booths.

 

“New case,” Allison says, sliding in her seat across from Derek. “And there’s a big pay check in it for us if we can solve this one. Have you been watching the news lately? Dead boy on a boat ring a bell?”

 

“The tourist that drowned on that cruise ship?” Derek asks, because he’s caught a glimpse of it on the television earlier.

 

“He didn’t drown, he was murdered,” Allison says, “And there is fifty thousand dollars in it for us if we can figure out who did it.”

 

“You mean if I can ask him who did it, right?” Derek quirks an eyebrow at her.

 

“You act as if I have absolutely no involvement in these cases whatever,” Allison says, with a smirk. “I resent that.”

 

“Where are we going?” Derek asks instead.

 

“Beacon Hills,” Allison answers him, and Derek’s heart skips up a bit at the name of his home town. “You ever been there?”

 

“You could say that,” Derek says, letting out a deep breath. “I kinda grew up there. Before boarding school.”

 

“Well, get ready to go back then,” Allison says, “You free this afternoon?”

 

“I can ask Scott to keep an eye on the restaurant,” Derek nods, “I’ve done all my baking for today. So… this dead guy from Beacon Hills, does he have a name?”

 

“Gościsław Stilinski,” Allison says, and Derek’s heart stops beating.

 

“Stiles…” he whispers out, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

 

***

 

Derek never returned to Beacon Hills after he got sent away to school, the memories of his mother, of Stiles’ mother… they were too painful and ridden with guilt to face again. But there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t think of Stiles.

 

“So, this dead guy, did you know him?” Allison asks, her eyes fixed on the road as they drive over.

 

“Yeah,” Derek nods, his heart drawing more and more heavy the closer they get to Beacon Hills.

 

“There’s a story there you’re not telling me,” Allison says, shooting him a sympathetic smile.

 

Derek doesn’t deny anything.

 

The rest of the trip happens in silence, as Derek mulls over the fact that Stiles was killed on a cruise ship between the United States and Tahiti, his body thrown in the ocean, never to be seen again if it weren’t for the fact that he got caught up in a fisherman’s net.

 

Allison always has a way of talking her way into a funeral home director’s good graces, which is how they’re finding themselves with the opportunity of having a moment alone in front of Stiles’ closed casket.

 

As Allison reaches for the casket, Derek puts his hand on her arm, stopping her. He blinks away some emotion, and takes a deep breath before saying, “Could I maybe… Can I do this one alone? Because of, you know… me knowing him?”

 

Allison smiles a sad smile, and asks, “You have something personal to say to him?”

 

“No,” Derek hastens to say, then sighs. “Yeah, okay, maybe. I don’t know. I just… I guess I want to say sorry for something. Something that happened when we were kids.”

 

Derek isn’t entirely sure how to tell the person that once was so important in your life that you’re sorry for killing their mother though, but he guesses he only has one chance and he’ll feel even more guilty if he doesn’t.

 

“Okay,” Allison says, patting him softly on the arm. Then she adds, “Just… don’t forget to ask him who killed him, you know?”

 

“Your concern is touching,” Derek deadpans.

 

“You only have a minute, Derek,” Allison reminds him.

 

“I know,” Derek says.

 

“Sixty seconds.”

 

“Jesus, Allison, I _know_!” Derek says, exasperated.

 

“Okay,” Allison says, holding her hands up in front of her before stepping out of the room, closing the door behind her.

 

Derek takes a deep breath before turning towards the white coffin. The white coffin that holds the body of the first boy he ever kissed. And Derek isn’t entirely sure how to process this information. How he’s supposed to see Stiles again, talk to him again after all these years, and focus on who killed him. How they’re supposed to catch up on all the lost years in only a minute.

 

But Allison is right. He has to find out about the killer. Not for the money, Derek doesn’t care about that, not when it’s Stiles that’s laying in the coffin. _His_ Stiles. Someone took away his life, and if Derek can help bring to justice whoever did it… well, it’s the very least he owes to Stiles. Derek isn’t sure he could live with himself if he didn’t at least do that for Stiles. For Stiles’ father, who must be going through hell right now.

 

It takes Derek a minute or so to bring up the courage to lift the lid of the coffin, exposing Stiles’ body. His skin is fair, eyelashes fawning over his cheeks, moles dotting his face, his hair combed immaculately. He looks like he’s sleeping, but Derek knows better.

 

Derek’s finger hovers over Stiles’ face, trying to decide where to touch him back to life. He starts the timer on his watch, and eventually settles on the tip of Stiles’ perky nose, his finger carefully resting on the skin as Stiles gasps back to life, sitting up in the coffin with a start. Derek stumbles backwards, careful not to touch Stiles again before the minute is up.

 

Stiles stumbles out of the coffin, eyes wide as he takes in the room.

 

“Whoa…” Stiles calls out, his eyes landing on Derek. “Who are you?”

 

“Do you remember the boy that lived next door to you when your mom died?” Derek asks with a half-smile, unable to believe he’s finally talking to Stiles again.

 

“ _Derek_?” Stiles says, his face turning into one huge smile, “Oh wow, you’ve grown up nicely!”

 

Derek stifles a laugh at Stiles’ brazenness.

 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, confused. Then he looks around the room. “What am _I_ doing here?”

 

“Stiles, do you know what’s happened to you?” Derek asks, careful to keep taking minute steps back whenever Stiles gets a tiny bit closer.

 

“I had this really weird dream, man,” Stiles says, scratching his head. “Like I was being strangled with a plastic bag.”

 

“That, uh… that wasn’t a dream,” Derek says, looking from Stiles to the coffin.

 

Stiles follows his line of sight, looking down at the coffin as his shoulders sag. “Oh,” he lets out.

 

“I know this must sound totally insane to you, but we only have a minute,” Derek rushes out, glancing at his watch, “Well, less, actually.”

 

“What the hell am I supposed to do in less than a minute?” Stiles asks, looking at him with desperate big eyes.

 

“Tell me who killed you,” Derek insists, “So justice can be served.”

 

“I would, but I uh…” Stiles is still looking around the room, like he’s trying to find his bearings. “I don’t actually know.”

 

“Oh,” Derek says.

 

“I was on the boat, and I went to get ice, and I dropped my key into the ice maker, and as I was trying to fish it out again, I was attacked from behind!” Stiles calls out, “I got this plastic bag over my head, and then I can’t actually remember anything until you touched my nose.”

 

“Oh,” Derek says again.

 

“By the way, the nose? Really?” Stiles asks, smiling.

 

“I like your nose,” Derek shrugs, his cheeks reddening.

 

Stiles ducks his head, but Derek can still see the smile on his face. A knock on the door pulls them both out of the moment, as Allison asks, “Are you almost done there?”

 

“Give me a sec!” Derek calls back, sneaking another look at his watch.

 

“My time is up?” Stiles asks, sadly.

 

“I’m sorry,” Derek says around the lump in his throat, because oh God, he’s not ready for this. Not by a long shot.

 

Stiles gives him a sad smile. “Well… thanks for calling me Stiles. No one’s called me Stiles since… since you.”

 

There’s a twist in Derek’s stomach, and he’s finding it harder to breathe as the seconds tick by, time running out, and he still hasn’t said any of the things he wanted to say.

 

“I used to…” Derek starts, stumbling over his words, “When I lived next door to you, I had a cru-, I was in…” He lets out a breath. “You were my first kiss.”

 

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, his cheeks flushed as he smiles, “You were my first kiss too.”

 

There’s a beat where they’re both just staring at each other, and then Stiles asks, “Do you want to be my last kiss?”

 

And Derek wants to be, wants to be so desperately. And yet he doesn’t at the same time. Because he doesn’t want it to be the last. He doesn’t want to never be able to kiss Stiles again. He’s not ready. He’s not ready to say goodbye, but the seconds are ticking away and if he doesn’t kiss Stiles now, the minute is up… and someone else has to die.

 

Derek swore to himself he’d never keep anyone alive again. With Roscoe, he didn’t know about the consequences. Nor did he with his mom. But then he learned, he learned the price to pay - Stiles’ mom - and he swore he would never play God like that again.

 

But as Stiles is standing before him, his eyes closed, his face forward, waiting to be kissed by Derek… to be _killed_ by Derek. _No, no, Stiles is already dead,_ Derek tries to tell himself, _this is just… borrowed time._ And yet Derek finds himself incapable of doing so. As much as he wants to feel those perfectly bowed lips against his, he simply cannot say goodbye to Stiles. Not again. Not for good. Not when he has the means to keep him alive.

 

Derek lets the minute pass, guilt tugging at his heart, but incapable of giving Stiles that final kiss. Stiles opens his eyes again, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

 

“Hey, if you don’t wanna kiss me, you don’t have to. I mean…” Stiles starts, somewhat unsure.

 

“No, I want to, I…” Derek sighs, because the damage is done already, and he should feel horrible, he should feel… but Stiles is still alive. Can stay alive. “What if you didn’t have to be dead?”

 

Stiles snorts, and Derek is careful not to fall into his touch. “Well, that’d be kind of awesome, wouldn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” Derek smiles, even though his heart is beating so fast it’s threatening to jump out of his chest. “But no one can know. There are… I have so much to explain to you, but uhm…” He looks back at the door, behind which Allison is waiting impatiently. “You just have to trust me for now.”

 

Stiles nods, clearly confused but he doesn’t question Derek.

 

“Can you hop back in?” Derek asks, gesturing towards the coffin.

 

“I’m guessing there’s no other way than this incredibly creepy one?” Stiles asks, but he’s crawling back into the coffin anyway.

 

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, eyes flitting between Stiles and the door.

 

“Lifetime of nightmares, dude,” Stiles whispers, but Derek can’t help but think that at least there’ll be a lifetime.

 

“I have to figure out a way to get you out of here without anyone noticing, alright?” Derek says, his hand already on the lid. “Just wait here, don’t move, and I promise I’ll be back for you.”

 

“Okay,” Stiles nods, folding his arms in front of his chest and closing his eyes.

 

And then Derek closes the lid on the coffin and finally breathes out deeply.

 

***

 

“He didn’t know,” Derek tells Allison as he’s walking her back to the car.

 

“So someone strangles him and throws him to the fishes but he doesn’t know who or why?” Allison frowns.

 

“Wouldn’t it be easy if the dead had all the answers?” Derek smiles nervously.

 

Allison regards him funnily, but to his relief, she doesn’t comment on it.

 

“Listen, I’d like to… stay for the funeral,” Derek says, pushing his hands deep in his pockets. “Why don’t you take the car back, and I’ll just grab a bus or a taxi or something?”

 

“Are you sure?” Allison asks.

 

“Yeah, please, I just,” Derek shakes his head, “I guess I’m not entirely ready to say goodbye yet.” And it isn’t a lie.

 

“Okay,” Allison nods, and Derek waits until he sees the car disappear out of his sight before running back into the funeral home.

 

He tries to fight the urge to throw up when he hears someone cry out that the funeral director isn’t breathing anymore, and he takes advantage of the confusion and the panic to sneak back into the room with Stiles’ coffin.

 

“Hell,” Derek mutters to himself, feeling utterly sick, “I’m going to hell.”

 

And then Stiles smiles up at him when he opens the lid again, and Derek wonders what a truly awful person he must be to feel his stomach flutter and a smile appear on his face.

 

“Come on, quickly,” Derek says, grabbing a big plant pot from the corner of the room and putting it in the coffin, in Stiles’ place.

 

He slams the lid shut again, tightening the latches, when the ruckus outside the door becomes louder.

 

“What’s going on there?” Stiles asks, gesturing towards the door.

 

“I created a diversion,” Derek lies, not able to look Stiles in the eyes. “Come on. We gotta get the hell out of here.”

 

Stiles follows him out the window, grinning like this is the best day of his life.

 

They sit all the way in the back of the - luckily almost empty - bus, and Derek quickly learns that telling Stiles to act inconspicuous was the worst thing he could ever have done.

 

“What are you even...?” Derek sighs, “Sit up. You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

 

“I’m trying to be invisible,” Stiles whispers, crouched down in his seat in an unnatural position.

 

Derek groans as he rubs his hand over his face. Stiles just grins at him.

 

By the time they reach The Pie Hole, the store is closed, which is good, because Derek has a whole lot to fill Stiles in on.

 

“So wait,” Stiles says, sitting at the counter, across from Derek. “I can’t even hug you?”

 

“Not unless you want to die, again,” Derek says, shrugging.

 

“Well, I definitely don’t want that,” Stiles says, his face almost in a pout, “But damn, what if you need a hug?”

 

“I’ll live,” Derek says, then adds, “You, however, won’t.”

 

“Well, that sucks,” Stiles sighs. Then he winks at Derek. “I guess I should have read the fine print on this, huh?”

 

“Would you not have, if you’d have known?” Derek asks, “I mean, you can still hug everyone else. Just, not me.”

 

“Well that still sucks,” Stiles says, “But no, of course I would have still… I mean, I would have not died, if I’d had the chance.”

 

Derek huffs out a laugh.

 

“That would’ve been good,” Derek says, “But we can’t mess this up now. So no, you can’t touch me.”

 

“Then a kiss is out the question too?” Stiles asks, his big amber eyes fixed on Derek. His face is open and honest, and he’s looking at Derek as if he wants to lean over the counter and kiss him, damned be the consequences, and Derek didn’t remember he could feel this way.

 

“I’ve lost my train of thought,” Derek says after a while.

 

“I always wondered if I’d see you again,” Stiles says, “You know, after you left for boarding school and I stayed with my dad.”

 

“You understand that you can’t go back, right?” Derek asks, leaning his elbows on the counter. “The Sheriff thinks you’re dead, everyone thinks you’re dead.”

 

“He’s all alone without me,” Stiles says, his face falling.

 

“I know, Stiles, I know,” Derek continues, “But people won’t understand, it’s too hard to grasp. If they found out… God knows what would happen.”

 

“It wouldn’t be good for you,” Stiles says quietly, and Derek knows that he understands.

 

“You can stay here,” Derek says getting up from behind the counter and turning off the lights in the kitchen, “I own the apartments upstairs. Scott rents one, but I’m in the other. It’s big, big enough for us both. You can stay here.”

 

Stiles nods gratefully, and follows Derek upstairs.

 

“This is Roscoe,” Derek says as he steps into his apartment, Roscoe looking up from his spot on the mat as Stiles steps in.

 

“Didn’t you used to have a dog named Roscoe too? When we were kids?” Stiles asks, kneeling down beside Roscoe and starting to pet him.

 

“Uh, yeah… that’s him,” Derek says.

 

Stiles’ head snaps back around, looking at Derek with a confused expression. “Did you…?” Stiles asks, “And now he’s…?”

 

“Yeah,” Derek says, somewhat embarrassed even though he’s not sure why.

 

“You seem to do that a lot,” Stiles says, tilting his head at Derek.

 

“It’s just the two of you, actually…” Derek says, and he isn’t sure if Stiles realizes just how much that means.

 

Derek lets Stiles have his bed, taking the couch for himself, and he’s not sure how long he’s been asleep when Stiles wakes him up again. He’s crouched in front of Derek, enough distance between them to be safe.

 

“Wha…?” Derek asks, blinking his eyes.

 

“Would I be alive right now if you knew who killed me?” Stiles asks.

 

“What?” Derek asks, chasing the sleep from his brain.

 

“The reward?” Stiles quirks an eyebrow.

 

“You’ve been watching the news?” Derek asks.

 

“I wasn’t really sleepy after having been dead, you know,” Stiles says, “So yeah, I watched the news.” There’s a beat of silence. “Did you bring me back for the reward?”

 

“It’s more complicated than that,” Derek says, sitting up on the sofa. “I wouldn’t even have known you were dead if it hadn’t been for the reward, so yeah, it’s thanks to the reward that you’re alive, but…”

 

“So you thought, ‘I’ll just ask him who killed him and I’ll strike up the fifty thousand dollars’?” Stiles asks.

 

“Twenty five, I… I have a partner,” Derek says lamely.

 

“It’s a business?” Stiles asks.

 

“There’s this private detective that found out about me, and… we kinda work together now?” Derek says.

 

“So you touch dead people, ask how they died, and then…?” Stiles asks, hugging his arms around his knees.

 

“And then I touch them again within the minute, so they die, for good,” Derek says honestly.

 

“But you didn’t touch me again?” Stiles says, his face softening.

 

“No,” Derek says, ducking his head. “I couldn’t.”

 

“Why not?” Stiles whispers.

 

“You know why,” Derek says, quietly.

 

“Okay,” Stiles says after a while, getting up off the floor. “Okay. Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight,” Derek says back, when Stiles is already sneaking back into the bedroom.

 

Derek turns around on the couch, facing the wall. He puts his hand up against the cold surface, pretending he can touch Stiles who’s on the other side.

 

***

 

Derek heads down to The Pie Hole in the morning, leaving a little sticky note saying “Please do **not** leave this apartment!” by Stiles’ bed.

 

He isn’t entirely surprised when Allison comes in as he opens up the place and starts questioning him.

 

“So how was the funeral?” she asks, sipping from her coffee.

 

“Alright,” Derek says, looking around the place to see if any customers might need him so he can sneak away.

 

“Found out anything interesting in my absence?” Allison pries, and then the door to the private area swings open and Scott and Stiles appear through it. Stiles, who is wearing a hoodie with the hood hanging low over his eyes, slides into the seat next to Allison immediately, while Scott leans over the back of the seat.

 

“Are you the business partner?” Stiles asks, with a broad smile.

 

“ _Oh Jesus_ ,” Derek groans, letting his head rest on his arms on the table. He’s so screwed.

 

“Yes, I am,” Allison tells him, eyeing him suspiciously.

 

“Found him upstairs,” Scott says, tilting his head at Derek. “Doesn’t he look a lot like that dead guy from the news?”

 

“He looks _exactly_ like that dead guy,” Allison says, giving Derek the biggest, fakest smile he’s ever seen.

 

“Though obviously you don’t look dead,” Scott adds, smiling at Stiles.

 

“That’s good to know,” Stiles beams back, and of course those two would hit it off. That is exactly what Derek needs.

 

“Pie time,” Derek says at Scott, nodding his head towards the counter, because he might not be able to avoid this horrible confrontation with Allison and Stiles, but Scott still works for him so at the very least he can get him out of here.

 

“Pie time,” Scott nods, and heads over to the kitchen, to start his work day.

 

“Okay, so I’ve been thinking,” Stiles says when Scott is out of earshot. “And I seriously think we should solve my murder and collect the reward the travel agency is promising. I mean, wouldn’t that be poetic?”

 

Stiles is literally beaming in his seat, while Allison is giving Derek the stink-eye.

 

“I mean, I’d like to find out who had the nerve to kill me while I was on a well-deserved vacation!” Stiles goes on.

 

“He’s supposed to be in the ground,” Allison says, as if Stiles hadn’t even spoken.

 

“I thought you didn’t want the reward?” Derek asks Stiles, trying to ignore Allison’s judgemental stare.

 

“No, I wanted you not to want the reward,” Stiles grins, “Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money.” He turns to Allison, who is still looking murderous. “Three-way split? Thirty - thirty - forty?” Allison quirks an eyebrow at him. “It’s only fair that I should get more, I did die for it, after all,” Stiles adds.

 

“I’m not a detective,” Derek mutters, “I make pies.”

 

“You can’t just touch somebody’s life and be done with it,” Stiles says.

 

“Yes, I can,” Derek says, “That’s how I roll.”

 

“Well, not this time,” Stiles says.

 

“I could do thirty - thirty - forty,” Allison finally says, ever the business head.

 

“He’s supposed to be dead,” Derek says, because what on earth has he gotten himself into? “You’re supposed to be dead.”

 

“Yeah, well, you changed all that,” Stiles grins at him.

 

***

 

“I think this is probably the stupidest thing you have ever done,” Allison tells him, when she drags him off to the kitchen, “I actually have a hard time believing you did it. I mean, Derek, you do realize what you’ve done, right?”

 

“You just agreed to be his partner!” Derek says, because it’s easier to accuse Allison than to own up to what he’s done.

 

“I’m just trying to get something out of your stupidity,” Allison counters. “Are you in love with him? Because it’s that level of stupid.”

 

“I just…” Derek starts, not really knowing how to answer. “It’s complicated, there are childhood issues, I mean…”

 

“We all have childhood issues, Derek!” Allison says, “Hell, you don’t even want me to start about my aunt Kate!”

 

“I kind of killed his mother when I was ten,” Derek breathes out, and the words feel weird in his mouth, even though he’s been saying them to himself for so long. But this is the first time he’s actually admitted it out loud.

 

“Okay…” Allison says carefully, “Maybe not exactly like my aunt Kate…”

 

“He doesn’t know,” Derek says, his shoulders hunched, “But I wanted to make it better or different than what it was. Because what it was was him dead, and I didn’t want that to be my fault too. I couldn’t…”

 

“So someone else died instead?” Allison asks.

 

“The funeral director,” Derek admits, the knot in his stomach tightening again. “It’s a random proximity thing.”

 

“ _I_ was in proximity!” Allison snaps at him.

 

“I wasn’t thinking!” Derek says, and it’s the truth. Oh boy, is it ever the truth. He couldn’t think of anything else besides having Stiles there in front of him, alive, smiling at him.

 

Allison shakes her head at him.

 

“He was a very, very bad man, okay?” Derek says, even though he knows it doesn’t make anything better. The funeral director could’ve been Satan for all he cares about, and Derek still would’ve had his death on his conscience. But it was Stiles… “It all came out after his death. Here, check for yourself.” He shoves the newspaper with the obituary in Allison’s hands. “He stole stuff off the dead people, and sold it on the internet. It was all in his obituary.”

 

“You’re so full of crap,” Allison sighs, looking at the newspaper.

 

“I know,” Derek mimics her sigh.

 

“Look,” Allison starts, “You don’t know anything about this guy except that he got himself killed.”

 

There’s a throat being cleared at the entrance of the kitchen that snaps them both out of their conversation.

 

“I’m not a bad person,” Stiles says, his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie.

 

“Then how did you get yourself killed?” Allison asks, and Derek hates how forward she can be sometimes.

 

“I don’t know!” Stiles says, “I don’t know what happened. I just… I’d been living with my dad for so long, and he’s always so busy with work, we never actually went anywhere for holidays or anything. But I wanted a break, wanted to get away for a bit. And dad encouraged me, told me to take a vacation.”

 

“The cruise?” Derek asks.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, “I went to a travel agency, I didn’t really care where I would go, I’d never been anywhere anyway. And Kali, the woman from the travel agency, she basically offered me this awesome cruise trip free of charge!”

 

“Free?” Allison quirks an eyebrow.

 

“All I had to do was pick up a package,” Stiles adds sheepishly.

 

“Oh my God,” Derek groans, “Are you a drug mule?”

 

“What? No!” Stiles calls out. “It wasn’t drugs. It was… monkeys.”

 

“What?” Allison and Derek ask in unison.

 

“It was a pair of monkey statues!” Stiles says, “I was just supposed to pick them up and bring them back to the travel agency. I didn’t know what it was about.”

 

“You died for a pair of monkey statues?” Derek asks.

 

“She said they weren’t worth much,” Stiles says, his face betraying that he knows how naive he sounds, “That their only value was sentimental.”

 

“And you believed her?” Allison asks.

 

“I was an idiot, alright,” Stiles sighs, “But I swear I don’t know what it was all about. You should ask Kali about this. I’m kind of curious about what she has to say. And why she’s handing out a reward to find my killer when she’s probably the one that got me killed?”

 

“I guess we’re off to the travel agency then?” Allison says, and she’s already heading out the door.

 

Stiles lingers, waits until Allison’s gone to ask Derek, “Are you mad at me?”

 

“What? No,” Derek says, shaking his head, “Of course not.”

 

“I just feel so stupid,” Stiles admits, scrunching up his face in a frown.

 

“We all make mistakes,” Derek says, and for a second, his hand shoots out to offer some comfort to Stiles, until he remembers and it freezes in the air.

 

Stiles looks at it sadly. “Mine got me killed.”

 

“And yet here you are,” Derek says, trying a small smile.

 

Stiles snorts, and nods his head. “See, now would be one of those times where I’d want to hug you.”

 

Derek stares at Stiles, feeling a little bit warmer inside. “Yeah,” he says, “A hug from you would be nice right about now.”

 

Stiles nods again, and then Allison is standing at the door of the shop, calling out, “ _Gu-uys_?”

 

***

 

The little bell on the top of the door of the travel agency rings as Derek steps through it, but the office is empty.

 

“Excuse me?” Allison calls out, but there’s no answer, no one to come greet them, even though the sign on the door says ‘open’.

 

Allison knocks on the door of the back office, opening it tentatively when there’s still no answer.

 

“Well…” Allison says, sticking her head through the door, “I guess that explains it.”

 

She makes room for Derek to come in, and that’s when he sees it too… Kali, sitting in the chair behind her desk, plastic bag firmly over her head.

 

“She’s dead?” Stiles says, when Derek goes to find him in the car.

 

“Suffocated with a plastic bag,” Derek says as they head back in, and Derek flips the ‘open’ sign on the door, so as not to be interrupted.

 

“Well that’s an ugly sight,” Stiles says as he looks at Kali’s body.

 

He takes off the bag, to reveal Kali’s lifeless face.

 

“I guess it’s fair to say we’re looking for the same killer,” Allison says.

 

“So Kali was trying to find my killer, and whoever that was killed her before she could find out?” Stiles ponders out loud.

 

“Looks like it,” Allison says, “What with the reward and everything. She probably knew this could happen. Was prepared to pay fifty thousand dollars to be one step ahead of the killer.”

 

“But who would want to kill both of us?” Stiles asks.

 

“I guess, uh…” Derek says, wagging his finger in the air.

 

“Go ahead,” Allison says, and Derek turns on the timer on his watch before he presses his finger to Kali’s hand and she springs back to life.

 

Kali looks around the room, dazed, and then her eyes land on Stiles.

 

“Hey Gościsław,” she says, butchering the pronunciation like almost everyone does.

 

Derek resists the urge to correct her.

 

“Hey Kali,” Stiles says, fake-cheerful.

 

“Wow, this is very odd,” Kali says, poking the skin of her arm with her finger as if she’s trying to make sense of the fact that she’s dead, but… not entirely.

 

“So here’s the deal,” Stiles says, “You get to talk for like a minute. You’re gonna give us some information, and then it’s done, okay? You’re not talking anymore.”

 

“So does everyone get to do this?” Kali asks, “Before they’re… you know, _poof_!” She mimes what could be a tiny explosion with her hands.

 

“Did you know I was going to get killed?” Stiles asks.

 

“I thought there might be the possibility,” Kali says, shrugging, and Derek has to stop himself from telling her her minute is already up. She goes on, “I’m sorry about that, I probably should’ve said something.”

 

“You think?” Stiles scoffs.

 

“But to be honest, and really, why not at this point?” Kali goes on, showing absolutely no remorse on her face. “If it had been safe, I would’ve done it myself.”

 

“Can we get to the part where we find out who killed her?” Allison sighs, clearly done with the chit-chat.

 

“Who are these people?” Kali asks Stiles.

 

“That’s Allison, she’s a private investigator,” Stiles says, waving at Allison. Then he smiles at Derek, “And that’s Derek. We uh… we go way back.”

 

“Well aren’t you a hottie?” Kali says, leering at Derek, holding out a perfectly manicured nail and scratching it over Derek’s cheek, and -

 

She promptly falls over on the desk, with a loud bang, going stone cold again. Derek freezes as he sits back, but the damage is done.

 

“You couldn’t have scooted back a little?” Allison asks, giving him a look.

 

“How was I supposed to know?” Derek sputters out, “Who does that?”

 

“Okay, so who would want to kill her, after killing you, when they already have their monkeys?” Allison starts pondering out loud.

 

“Actually, I don’t think they do?” Stiles says, “I dropped my key in the ice maker when whoever it was, you know…” He gestures his hands in front of his neck. “They couldn’t get into my room.”

 

“So they don’t have the monkeys,” Derek says.

 

“When you get killed on a boat, where do they send your belongings?” Stiles asks, his face scrunched up in worry.

 

“Your next of kin,” Allison says.

 

“My dad,” Stiles says, rushing out towards the car.

 

***

 

The second they arrive at the sheriff’s house, Stiles moves for the handle of the car door.

 

“You can’t!” Derek calls out.

 

“I just want want to look through the window or something,” Stiles says, his eyebrows knitted together in worry.

 

“You can’t,” Derek says again, “Allison and I, we’ll go in, we’ll make sure it’s alright. But he can’t see you.”

 

“I was supposed to keep him safe, Derek,” Stiles says, wet eyes pleading with him, “But I left. If anything happens to him, I’d just… I’d die. _Again._ ”

 

“We’ll make sure he’s safe, Stiles. I promise,” Derek says, his nails digging into his palm to stop himself from reaching out towards Stiles.

 

Stiles nods sadly, and Derek shoots him a doleful smile before getting out of the car, followed by Allison.

 

Derek knows that the sheriff hasn’t left the house since Stiles died, sickened by grief. When he knocks on the front door, he’s greeted by a muffled “Who is it?”

 

“My name is Derek,” Derek calls out, “I lived next door a long time ago. I’m a… I was a friend of Stiles’.” There’s a beat of silence, and then Derek says, “Gościsław?”

 

The door finally opens, and Derek is greeted by the sad face of John Stilinski.

 

“Derek,” he says, nodding slightly, “I remember you.”

 

“This is my friend Allison,” Derek says, waving a hand at her, and the sheriff makes way for Derek and Allison to step into the house, leads them into the living room where he offers to make them a cup of tea.

 

“The doctor says I’m not supposed to drink coffee right now,” the sheriff says, when he comes back from the kitchen. “Something about caffeine and high blood pressure.”

 

“Tea is fine,” Allison smiles gently at him.

 

“Not that I have much to live for, now that my boy is…” the sheriff trails off, shaking his head sadly.

 

Derek ducks his head, guilt encompassing his entire body. Guilt over having caused John’s wife’s death, guilt over knowing that Stiles is alive again, but not being able to tell his grieving father. Derek is sitting in front of a broken man, the shell of what he once was. Pain visible on his face, in his voice.

 

“Try the honey,” the sheriff says, suddenly. “My boy made it. You know he kept bees? Was always making honey…”

 

“I didn’t know that,” Derek says, scooping up a nice spoon of honey and mixing it in his tea.

 

“I’m not sure what to do with the beehives now,” the sheriff muses, stirring his spoon into his cup absentmindedly.

 

“Maybe…” Derek starts, because he desperately wants to do _something_ for this man. “If you don’t want to keep them, I can see if I can find someone to take care of them? If you’d like that?”

 

“You’re a good kid, Derek.” The sheriff nods, giving him a tentative smile.

 

“Excuse me, Sheriff?” Allison asks, putting down her cup on the little table in front of her. “Could I perhaps use the bathroom for a second?”

 

“Oh, of course,” the sheriff says, waving towards a door, “It’s just down the hall, third door on the left. Right next to…”

 

‘ _To Stiles’ bedroom_ ,’ Derek fills in in his head, because he remembers. He remembers all the times he came to play in this house as a kid. Running down the hallway, playing ‘cops and robbers’. Stiles always wanted to be the cop, just like his dad. Derek didn’t mind being the robber, not if it made Stiles happy.

 

Allison gives him a wink, behind the sheriff’s back, before disappearing down the hallway, and Derek is sure she’s actually looking for the belongings the cruise line returned.

 

“How are you doing, son?” John asks, leaning forward towards Derek, and Derek swallows around the lump in his throat from being called ‘son’.

 

“I’m alright,” Derek says, warming his hands around his cup of tea. “I own a pie shop. I make pies.”

 

“Didn’t your mom used to make pies too?” John asks, “I remember Talia bringing ‘round pies, her and Claudia chatting away the afternoon.”

 

“And me and Stiles playing around the garden,” Derek says, and he can’t help but smile at the memory.

 

“ _Stiles_ …” the sheriff says, a sad smile tugging at his mouth, “He always wanted to be called ‘Stiles’, and I always thought it was a whim. Eventually he stopped correcting me when I called him Gościsław. But you always did call him Stiles. He liked that.”

 

The sheriff is so caught up in his own thoughts, that Derek is pretty confident he doesn’t notice just how long Allison is taking.

 

“It’s funny,” John says, woeful, “I’d call him Stiles in a heartbeat now, if I had the chance.”

 

Derek has to close his eyes, press his lips firmly together not to shout out that Stiles is still alive. Because as much as it kills him to see the sheriff this way, suffering for the loss of the only family member that he had left, Derek has to protect his secret. Because John might be Stiles’ father, but he doesn’t actually _know_ him anymore. Hell, he doesn’t even really know Stiles if he’s completely honest about it.

 

They’re both pulled out of their thoughts by a loud crash in the hallway, and then Allison shrieks. Derek is up on his feet in a second, as is the sheriff, and while Derek rushes into the hallway, the sheriff heads for his desk.

 

There's a masked man in the hallway, his hands tightly fisted around Allison's throat and the ends of the plastic bag covering her head. She's struggling with him, kicking and clawing, and before Derek can even react, he sees movement from the doorway behind them. Derek gasps as he sees Stiles raise a metal briefcase and hit the masked man over the head with it. The man slumps against the wall, dazed. Derek hears the sheriff approaching behind him, and gestures for Stiles to get the hell out, practically shoos him away, and Stiles disappears into his own former bedroom just as the sheriff arrives in the hallway, gun in his hand.

 

Allison has removed the bag and is still gasping for air, her hands protectively around her neck, and then the masked man gets up again, reaching for something in his pocket. Derek drags Allison over to him, just as the man raises his hand. He catches a glimpse of light reflecting on the blade just as a gunshot goes off and the masked man falls to the floor.

 

“What the hell was all that about?” the sheriff calls out.

 

“I think I surprised a burglar when I went to the bathroom?” Allison says, out of breath, and it’s not entirely a lie.

 

***

 

Derek and Allison stay until the sheriff’s department arrives. The M.O. and the fact that Stiles’ room was turned over alludes to the fact that the burglar - a man by the name of Ennis - was probably related to Stiles’ murder, and although Derek knows that taking a life is nowhere near easy, he hopes the sheriff will at least find some comfort in knowing that someone involved with his son’s murder is no longer.

 

The sheriff sends Derek and Allison home, each with a jar of Stiles’ homemade honey, and Derek promises not to be a stranger.

 

When they get home, he finds Stiles sitting outside on the bench in front of The Pie Hole, the metal briefcase open next to him, the two plaster statues inside.

 

They sit in silence for a while, until Stiles asks, “Was this really an act of kindness? Me? Here?” He looks over at Derek. “Were you really trying to do something good for no other reason than to help me?”

 

Derek considers lying, but there’s so much he still has to come clear on, so he shakes his head and admits, “I was being selfish.”

 

Stiles worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks at Derek.

 

“I’d love to tell myself that I was trying to be a good person, completely selfless, but I know deep down that that isn’t the truth,” Derek says with a half smile. “I just… thought that my world would be a better place if you were in it.”

 

Stiles lets out a puff of laughter, blinking his eyes rapidly. “I’m trying to find this all very creepy,” Stiles says, a hint of humor in his voice, before his face straightens out again, “But I can’t help but be utterly moved by it.”

 

Derek feels that little spark in the pit of his stomach heating up again at Stiles’ words.

 

“We both probably have a lot of issues, let’s be real,” Derek says in an attempt to break the tension.

 

“You can say that again,” Stiles chuckles, curling his fingers around the edge of the bench, a few inches away from Derek’s. “One of them being that I can’t even take your hand right now.”

 

Derek looks down at their hands, so close, and yet they feel ridiculously far away from each other.

 

“Well,” Stiles says, breaking the silence, and he grabs the plaster monkeys, “I figured since it cost me my life, I should get to keep at least one. And seeing as I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you...” He hands Derek one of the statues. “I guess it’s only fair if you get to keep the other.”

 

Derek bounces the monkey up and down in his hands, regarding it.

 

“These are heavy for just a bit of plaster…” Derek muses, looking at Stiles.

 

Stiles’ face grows wide in a smile, and he promptly lifts his monkey a bit higher, to smash it down on the edge of the bench. The plaster flakes off, revealing bronze underneath, decorated with intricate symbols and swirls on it.

 

“What the hell are these?” Stiles asks, examining the statue in his hands as Derek breaks his statue, too.

 

“I have no idea,” Derek says, peeling off some more chips of plaster.

 

“This has got to be the reason they were so valuable, right?” Stiles asks excitedly, “I mean, this has to mean something, this has to be pretty important.”

 

“Yeah,” Derek breathes out, looking down at the symbols. “I think we should probably… keep this to ourselves? See if we can figure out what these symbols mean?”

 

“Yeah, research it,” Stiles agrees, “There’s gotta be something more to this.”

 

***

 

“Since when do you bake pies?” Derek asks as he’s watching Stiles mess around with the dough on the counter.

 

“Since… since never,” Stiles smiles, a spot of flour already covering his cheek. “But Scott told me that his mother works part-time for you? And that she does deliveries?”

 

“She does,” Derek confirms, “So, does that mean you want to have a pie delivered somewhere?” Even though he can already guess where exactly.

 

“My dad loves pies,” Stiles says, and Derek can tell from the tone of his voice just how much Stiles is missing his father.

 

Derek nods, and continues to watch as Stiles flattens the rolling pin over the dough, tearing it to shreds.

 

“Not enough flour,” Derek whispers, and Stiles promptly throws two handfuls of flour on the dough, enough to bury the entire thing.

 

“Oh my God,” Derek chuckles, shaking his head.

 

“Too much flour?” Stiles asks sheepishly, rubbing his nose, only to cover that in the powder as well.

 

“A bit, yeah,” Derek smiles, and he grabs one of the thick plastic gloves from the counter and pulls it over his hand before he carefully approaches Stiles.

 

Stiles stands perfectly still, not even breathing, as Derek gently brushes his gloved hand over Stiles’ nose, rubbing off the flour. He would love to feel the warmth underneath the touch, the softness of Stiles’ skin, but he has to settle for the pressure against the tip of his thumb as he strokes over Stiles’ cheek.

 

It’s only when Derek takes a step back, creating a safe distance between them again, that Stiles lets out his breath, and starts moving again.

 

“Not that I don’t understand the gesture of you being the one to bake a pie for your father…” Derek starts, snapping off the glove and picking up a ball of dough in his hands, “Wouldn’t it be better if I helped you out a bit?”

 

“And by help out a bit you mean do everything for me, right?” Stiles tilts his head, raising his eyebrows at Derek.

 

“I’ll let you put in the fruit?” Derek smiles, kneading the dough in his hands. “It’s just that I’m sure your father would actually appreciate a… you know, edible pie.”

 

“You’re horrible,” Stiles says breezily, but he steps away from the counter anyway, to make room for Derek.

 

Derek takes up his spot and clears out Stiles’ attempt of a pie before slamming his ball of dough down on the counter.

 

“So how many people have you touched?” Stiles asks, running his hands under the sink to clear off the mess he made.

 

“I’m assuming you mean…” Derek trails off.

 

“You know, the whole dead-alive mojo,” Stiles says, in a whisper, making sure Scott is out safely in the shop and can’t hear them.

 

“People or animal?” Derek asks, focusing on his task at hand.

 

“Roscoe doesn’t count,” Stiles says, and at his words, Roscoe perks up his ears and lets out a whining sound from where he’s laying on the kitchen floor.

 

“Roscoe does count,” Derek says, without even so much as a second thought, “No one’s been through as much with me as Roscoe.”

 

“How many people have you brought back to life though?” Stiles insists, crouching down next to Roscoe and scratching behind his ears as his way of being forgiven. Roscoe forgives easily.

 

“It’s not like I walk around reviving childhood sweethearts at random, you know?” Derek frowns, flattening out the dough.

 

“How many childhood sweethearts are there?” Stiles asks, with a sly smile on his face.

 

Derek just shoots him a look, because damn if Stiles isn’t the only one that actually mattered.

 

“And what about Allison?” Stiles asks, and for a second Derek thinks that Stiles is asking whether him and Allison have ever been… “You touch a lot of people with Allison!”

 

Derek shakes his head. “That’s for work.”

 

“Just because you kill them again as soon as you get what you want doesn’t make it any different,” Stiles says.

 

“Can you stop making me sound like a serial killer or something?” Derek huffs, sprinkling some flour into one of the molds.

 

“Sorry,” Stiles says, wrinkling his nose.

 

“I touch them again and they snap right back to the way they’re supposed to be,” Derek goes on, “They’re not dead because of me.”

 

“Am I the rubber band that broke?” Stiles asks, tilting his head as he looks at Derek.

 

“Do you ever stop asking questions?” Derek asks, folding the dough out into the mold.

 

“No need to start blushing, Derek,” Stiles smiles.

 

“I’m… not,” Derek says, even though he feels his cheeks heating up.

 

“I think it’s cute,” Stiles mutters, but definitely loud enough for Derek to hear.

 

“What kind of pie does your dad like?” Derek asks, desperately trying to change the subject.

 

“Rhubarb!” Stiles says, excitedly, as he’s popping in to the storage room next to the kitchen to fetch the rhubarb filling.

 

Scott walks into the kitchen with a few more orders, and then Melissa - Scott’s mom - shows up as well.

 

“Hello boys,” she smiles broadly, kissing her son on the cheek.

 

“Mom, this is Stiles,” Scott says as Stiles heads back into the kitchen, a bowl of rhubarb filling in his arms. “He’s uh… Derek’s friend.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Stiles,” Melissa says, “I’m Scott’s mom.”

 

“Oh, so you do the deliveries!” Stiles says enthusiastically, as Derek plucks the rhubarb carefully out of Stiles’ hands to continue his pie.

 

“That’s me,” Melissa says, “I used to be a nurse, but you know how it is, cutbacks and all that. Besides, Derek here was kind enough to offer me a part-time job, and this way I actually get to see my son from time to time.”

 

“That’s nice,” Stiles says, “I actually have a delivery for you myself. But it’s kinda… he can’t know where the pie came from? Consider it an anonymous gift.”

 

“A secret admirer kind of thing?” Melissa winks.

 

“Hah,” Stiles laughs, “Not exactly, no. It’s kind of complicated. But I promise it’s nothing bad. I’d just like it to stay a surprise, is all.”

 

“No worries, kid,” Melissa says breezily, “The customer’s wish is my command.”

 

“That’s assuming he’ll actually pay for the pie, of course,” Derek mutters under his breath, but he shoots a wink at Stiles’ indignant face.

 

***

 

“He’s here again,” Allison tells Derek when he shows up at the tri-county morgue at Allison’s request - with Stiles in tow.

 

“I love it when she acts like I can’t hear her,” Stiles smiles at Derek, his voice ripe with sarcasm.

 

Derek resists the urge to sigh.

 

“You know the world thinks you’re dead, right?” Allison now addresses Stiles, “You can’t keep showing up in public. At some point, someone is going to recognize you.”

 

“I’m incognito,” Stiles stresses his point by wrapping the hood of his sweatshirt a bit tighter around his face.

 

“Seriously, Derek?” Allison gives him a look.

 

“Hey, I tried to keep him in the house!” Derek says, holding his hands up in defense. “You think he listens to me?”

 

“I don’t have to listen to anyone,” Stiles scoffs, “I am my own person. Now are we gonna reanimate some dead people or what?”

 

“They’re not zombies, Stiles…” Derek rolls his eyes, slightly amused.

 

Stiles smiles at him as he walks right past them, into the morgue. Allison huffs and looks at Derek, cocking her eyebrows like she’s waiting for him to do something.

 

“I tried, Allison,” Derek shrugs, “You heard the man. He’s his own person.”

 

And then Derek follows Stiles inside, Allison not far behind him.

 

“You just keep bringing more and more people,” the director of the morgue shakes his head at Allison, but still gladly accepts the bills Allison slips in his hand.

 

He allows them access to the cadaver coolers, as always, and leaves them alone for a moment.

 

“One day, he’s not gonna let us in anymore,” Allison says, annoyed, as the door closes behind her. “If we keep showing up in larger numbers…”

 

“This is a guy that accepts money to have a bunch of people he doesn’t know look at corpses,” Stiles counters, “I doubt there’s much that will have him kick us out, to be honest.”

 

“Can we get this over with now?” Derek asks, interrupting the two of them, because as much as he’d like to agree with Stiles, he does see Allison’s point as well, and he really doesn’t want to be referee between the two of them all day long.

 

“Fine,” Allison huffs, rolling out the dead person in question. “Hit and run, and the family’s handing out a lot of cash to whoever can identify the driver. They’re not sure it’s an accident.”

 

“Ouch,” Stiles says, as Allison lifts the sheet to reveal a pale, brown-haired man, half his chest flattened, tire marks still present.

 

Derek starts the timer on his watch, and touches the poor man on the shoulder, causing him to blink open his eyes. He opens his mouth to ask if he can tell them anything about the car that hit him, but before he can speak, Stiles cuts him off.

 

“Do you have any last words? Wishes? Something we can tell your family?” Stiles asks, smiling sweetly at the temporarily-not-deceased-anymore.

 

“Oh, wow, uhm…” the guy looks up at them, “I don’t know, could you maybe… tell my mom that I loved her?”

 

“Of course we can,” Stiles says, nodding at him reassuringly.

 

“Sorry to rush you and all that, but we only have…” Derek looks at his watch, “Forty-five seconds.”

 

“Why only a minute?” Stiles mutters.

 

“Do you know who ran you over?” Allison cuts to the chase, fixing the dead guy with a stern look.

 

“Oh yeah, I’d recognize that car anywhere,” the man grumbles, “It was my ex-wife.”

 

“Are you sure?” Derek asks, keeping an eye on the clock.

 

“I paid for the damn thing myself!” the man answers, “I was dragging her back to court, because she pretty much screwed me over in the divorce settlement, and I guess she was afraid to lose or something.”

 

“So she hit you with her car?” Stiles winces, “That’s rough, dude.”

 

“Tell me about it,” the man shakes his head solemnly. “And I’ll tell you another thing - ” But Derek reaches out to touch him again, and the man falls back on the slab, cold and stiff, like he was before.

 

“He was in the middle of a sentence!” Stiles calls out, indignant.

 

“His minute was up,” Derek says, apologetically.

 

“Who decides on this minute anyway?” Stiles asks, confused.

 

“It just…” Derek sighs, pulling the sheet back over the dead man, “It just is, okay?”

 

“Okay, lets get the hell out of here,” Allison says, pretty much saving Derek from further explanation. “I’d like to get this ex-wife of his in jail.”

 

“Now that’s rewarding,” Derek tries with a weak smile to Stiles, even though he can tell from Stiles’ face that this discussion will come back at some point.

 

“Wait, wait…” Stiles says as Allison is heading for the exit.

 

As Derek turns, he sees Stiles pointing towards the label on the cadaver cooler next to the hit and run victim.

 

“Ennis…” Derek says, staring at Stiles.

 

“We should…” Stiles says, waving at the latch on the cooler.

 

“We should hit him over the head,” Allison huffs, “That guy tried to kill me.”

 

“He actually did kill me!” Stiles calls out, indignant.

 

“Okay, okay…” Derek says, pulling over the cooler and rolling out the dead body of the man that killed Stiles.

 

“What are you even going to ask him?” Allison asks.

 

Stiles looks at Derek, biting his bottom lip. They haven’t actually told Allison about the statues, about the bronze underneath it, with the weird symbols.

 

“There’s… look, just… I’ll explain afterwards, okay?” Derek tells Allison, and he can tell she’s not happy being brushed off, but they only have a limited time here.

 

Stiles lifts the sheet off Ennis’ body, and Derek checks his timer before touching Ennis back to life.

 

“Wha…?” Ennis twitches, wide eyes on the three of them. “What the fuck?”

 

“Remember me?” Stiles asks, his face a wry smile.

 

“You were dead. I know you were, I…” Ennis says, stammering.

 

“Killed me?” Stiles asks, fake smile in place.

 

“Tried to kill me too,” Allison interjects, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

 

“What the fuck is going on here?” Ennis asks, his breathing ragged.

 

“We’ll be asking the questions, thanks,” Derek says, fixing him with a stare. “What’s so special about the statues?”

 

“What?” Ennis asks.

 

“The monkey statues that were worth killing for,” Derek repeats, “What’s the deal with them?”

 

“The monkeys? I don’t know, man,” Ennis says, “I work for this guy, he wanted to have those. And he knew Kali was after them as well.”

 

“This guy you work for, who is he?” Derek asks, glancing down at his watch. Almost time…

 

“He knew Kali,” Ennis says, “They used to work together, until Kali went her own way.”

 

“Worked together in the travel agency?” Stiles asks, confused.

 

“No, man,” Ennis says, and Derek is already holding his finger up, because their time is almost up. “They were involved in this weird voodoo stuff. Like, magic and such.”

 

“Magic?” Stiles asks.

 

“What’s his name, Ennis?” Derek barks out, time running out.

 

“Deucalion,” Ennis rushes out, staring at Derek weirdly.

 

“Punch him!” Stiles suddenly calls out, as Derek is reaching for Ennis, and it takes Derek by surprise, but one look at Stiles is enough for him to know that, yes, he does want to punch Ennis’ lights out, for good.

 

So he balls his hand up in a fist and punches Ennis straight in the face, making him fall back on the slab, stone cold.

 

“Fuck yeah!” Stiles lets out a high pitched giggle, and Derek can’t help but chuckle as well.

 

“Very mature,” Allison deadpans, but Derek knows that she’s hiding a grin as she rolls her eyes.

 

***

 

“I haven’t had a chance to thank you, by the way,” the sheriff tells Derek as they’re loading up the beehives in the special trailer Derek rented for this particular move.

 

“Thank me?” Derek frowns, looking at the sheriff, who still has this sad expression on his face, but Derek is glad to see he’s looking less pale, more… _together_.

 

“The pie?” John says, “That came from your place, right? The Pie Hole. This lovely woman came and dropped it off.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Derek says, and he should’ve known that John would think Derek sent it. After all, it’s not like he’s considering Stiles to be a possibility.

 

“She wouldn’t tell me who it was from,” John goes on, “Not even when I insisted. But either way, it was a great gesture. Thank you, Derek.”

 

There’s an actual smile on Stiles’ father’s face, and it warms Derek’s heart in a way he didn’t anticipate.

 

“Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t me?” Derek asks, smiling back at him, securing the hives in the trailer.

 

“You gonna start like Melissa now?” the sheriff says, with half a smile, and Derek quirks an eyebrow at him knowing Melissa by name after just one delivery.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir,” Derek just smiles.

 

“Oh, before you go,” the sheriff says, when they’ve got the bees, the hives, and all the material packed up for transport, “I have Stiles’ beekeeper suit…” Derek bites his lip at the fact that the sheriff is actually calling him ‘Stiles’, as John goes into the house to come back with the suit in his hands. “I mean, I don’t know if this friend of yours will fit in it, but…” His hands caress over the suit, fingers trailing over the mask.

 

“That’s really kind of you,” Derek says, swallowing around the lump in his throat at the sight of the sheriff giving up his son’s beekeeper suit. “But only if you’re sure? I mean, my friend can get a new one, if you want. If you’d like to keep this one. I mean, it was Stiles’, and…”

 

John shakes his head, thrusting the suit in Derek’s hands.

 

“What am I going to do with it, huh?” he says, putting on a weak smile. “I never came near those bees, and I’d be happier knowing someone took good care of them. I know it would’ve been important to my son.”

 

Derek nods, folding the suit neatly in his hands.

 

“I have plenty of stuff of his left,” the sheriff goes on, “I’d rather see someone make good use out of this. They’re quite expensive, those suits. And if you tell me this friend of yours will care for them - “

 

“Yes,” Derek says immediately, “Trust me. He knows how to take care of them, he’s done it before. He’ll be really respectful, Sir. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t trust him completely with something that Stiles held so dear.”

 

John nods, seemingly satisfied. “You miss him too, don’t you?”

 

Derek doesn’t want to lie, doesn’t want to pretend to know how the sheriff feels after just having lost his son, so he says instead, “Even though I had to move away, I never forgot about him.”

 

***

 

He finds Stiles sitting behind his laptop when he enters the apartment, one of the monkey statues next to the screen.

 

“Hey, there you are,” Derek says, excited about what he’s going to show him, but Stiles only gives him a quick glance, engrossed in whatever it is on the computer screen.

 

“Hey, so I’m looking up those symbols,” Stiles starts, his eyes glued to the screen, “And I swear to God, Derek, everything that comes up is about magic. Like, I would laugh it away, because ‘ _magic_ ’, right? But it’s what Ennis said, and then there’s you and what you can do, and maybe it isn’t so crazy after all?”

 

“True,” Derek says, still hovering by the door.

 

“And I can’t quite figure it out, because there’s lots of blabla, and I’m not even sure how reliable these sites are, but…” Stiles says, finally turning to look at Derek. “The thing that keeps coming back is ‘death’. Gotta have something to do with bringing back the dead or something.”

 

“Seems to be a recurring theme in my life,” Derek smiles wryly, eyeing the statues.

 

“Were you looking for me?” Stiles asks suddenly, noticing Derek is still standing by the apartment door.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Derek says, shooting him a smile, “Come with me for a sec, I have to show you something.”

 

“Is it gonna be something dirty,” Stiles winks at him, but he shuts the lid of the laptop anyway, and gets up. “Because those kinds of things should really stay inside the apartment walls.”

 

Derek huffs out a laugh at Stiles’ shit-eating grin. “You’re terrible,” Derek smirks, “Just come on.”

 

Derek leads the way down the stairs, all the way out into the private garden behind The Pie Hole, Stiles a few steps behind. He stops in the middle of the garden, looking at the beehives - _Stiles_ ’ beehives - all the way in the back. The bees are buzzing around the hives, seemingly not straying too far.

 

“Oh my God…” Stiles whispers, frozen to the spot, looking out at his bees.

 

“Your dad said he didn’t know what to do with them,” Derek starts, his voice soft, “He didn’t want to get rid of them per se, but he didn’t know how to care for them, and he wanted them to have a good home, so…”

 

“Oh my God…” Stiles whispers again, his voice fragile.

 

“I thought you might like something familiar here,” Derek says, looking at Stiles’ bewildered face.

 

Stiles sucks in a deep breath, blinks his eyes a few times, and then he’s shooting off towards the building so fast Derek thinks he’s done something horribly wrong.

 

“Come with me,” Stiles calls out, frantically, “Come with me now.”

 

“Stiles, what - ?” Derek starts, looking from the bees to Stiles.

 

“Come with me _now_ ,” Stiles yelps, all but bouncing out of his skin.

 

Derek rushes after him, as he heads into the kitchen, and starts opening and closing cabinets rapidly.

 

“Stiles, what’s going on?” Derek asks, staying in the corner of the kitchen while Stiles is clearly looking for something. “Did I do something wrong? I just… I wanted to help.”

 

Stiles just shakes his head, finally finding a roll of saran wrap and unwinding it rapidly.

 

“You…” Stiles mutters under his breath, folding a huge chunk of cling film multiple times, throwing the rest of the roll on the floor like it personally offended him.

 

He grabs the two ends of the large square of wrap, still shaking his head at Derek.

 

“Do _not_ move,” Stiles says, sternly, and Derek almost freezes on the spot.

 

And then Stiles holds out the saran wrap in front of Derek’s face, hands spread wide enough not to touch Derek’s skin, and he lunges forward and presses his lips firmly against Derek’s, only the few layers of cellophane separating them. Despite Stiles’ warning, it still catches Derek by surprise. He realizes he’s holding his breath, not moving an inch, for fear of reaching out and touching Stiles. Stiles’ lips are warm against his, even with the barrier between them, soft pressure against the slick-smooth wrap. He wishes he could taste Stiles, could feel the tenderness of his lips, but he’ll settle for this, for the gesture, for the push of Stiles’ lips, gingerly moving against his.

 

When Stiles finally pulls away, taking a step back to reach a safe distance, he’s staring at Derek with wide eyes, full of emotion, and a broad smile on his face.

 

“What did I do to deserve that?” Derek asks, licking his lips, trying to feel the lingering pressure of Stiles’ on them.

 

“You _know_ what…” Stiles says, balling the used saran wrap up in his hands and leaving it discarded on the work table. “You helped out my dad, you got me my bees, you…”

 

“It was nothing,” Derek shrugs, and he can’t keep the grin off his face.

 

“It was everything,” Stiles counters, staring at him like he’s the world, and Derek realizes that he’s screwed, because fuck, he still has such strong feelings for Stiles.

 

Then the door swings open and Scott barges in, a stack of dirty plates in his hands.

 

“Coming through!” Scott sing-songs, then nods to Stiles. “Oh, hey Stiles!”

 

“Scotty,” Stiles smiles back.

 

“You should keep having those pies delivered,” Derek says eventually, “It’s a nice gesture, I think he likes it.”

 

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, his face going soft and nostalgic like it always does when his father is mentioned.

 

“Definitely,” Derek nods.

 

“We’re running out of peach cobbler,” Scott says, grabbing a cherry pie from the work table where it was cooling off.

 

“Better get to work then, pie-maker,” Stiles tells Derek, then he grins, “I’m gonna go take care of my bees.”

 

“You got him bees?” Scott quirks an eyebrow at Derek as Stiles bounces out of the kitchen, returning to the backyard.

 

“I…” Derek says, taking a big bowl of peaches out of the fridge. “Yeah.” He shrugs, because getting someone their bees isn’t too weird, right?

 

“Oh man,” Scott grins, shaking his head clearly amused, “You’ve got it bad.”

 

Derek is utterly and completely screwed.

 

***

 

“I’m still not allowed to say who they’re from?” Melissa asks, gathering up the boxes of pies for delivery.

 

“Nope,” Stiles says, “It’s really very important he doesn’t know.”

 

“Alright then,” Melissa says sweetly, “But he’s really curious.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says, helping her stack the boxes up. “But there’s really no other way.”

 

Melissa quirks an eyebrow at him, but she doesn’t argue with him.

 

“He’s a lovely man,” Melissa comments, off-hand, and Derek can see Stiles’ eyes widen and he gives Derek a surprised look. Derek just smirks.

 

And then Melissa is off to deliver her pies. She leaves the shop just as Allison enters, and they exchange pleasantries by the door until Allison nods at Derek while she’s sliding into one of the booths. And when Derek goes over to her, Stiles follows suit. He beams as he sits down next to Allison.

 

“A case?” Derek asks.

 

“Yeah…” Allison says warily, then turns to Stiles. “Can we maybe have some privacy?”

 

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Stiles says good heartedly, poking her in the ribs with his elbow. “I’m totally a part of these investigations now.”

 

Allison bites her lip, then turns back to Derek, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Well, he’s in on it,” Derek shrugs, not really understanding why Allison is so reluctant to share this time around.

 

“You’re gonna regret this,” Allison mutters under her breath, shaking her head as she fixes Derek with a stare.

 

“Come on, what’s the case? What’s so special about it?” Stiles asks, excitedly.

 

“You’re weirdly fascinated by all of this,” Derek says, giving him a quick smile.

 

“You think dying has made me morbid?” Stiles grins back, leaning his head on his hands.

 

“Little bit,” Derek smirks back.

 

“Are you two quite done?” Allison asks, a hint of annoyance shining through.

 

And then Scott approaches their table, and Derek expects a bad-mooded Allison to get even more irritated, but to his surprise she brightens up when Scott reaches them and asks Allison if she wants a slice of pie. He should’ve known, really. Even Allison has a weak spot, and it surely isn’t the pie.

 

“Do you have more of that banana pie from the other day?” Allison asks him.

 

“Coming right up!” Scott beams, as if he’d made the pie himself, and flitters off to fetch Allison’s order.

 

“So, this dead person, how did they die?” Derek asks, keeping his voice down.

 

“Nobody knows,” Allison says, narrowing her eyes at him as if he’s supposed to catch a clue from it.

 

“Oh, sounds mysterious,” Stiles says, still endearingly excited, “Like, an untraceable poison, or something?”

 

“Or something…” Allison mutters, then smiles gratefully as Scott presents her with her piece of pie.

 

“I have an appointment for us in an hour,” Allison says to Derek, and Derek nods as he gets up out of his seat. “We should do this one alone,” Allison adds pointedly, and Stiles scoffs amused as they both head over to the kitchen, leaving Allison and Scott to themselves for a bit.

 

“I’m still coming, right?” Stiles says, with a cheeky grin on his face.

 

“If I said no, would you even listen?” Derek counters, and honestly? He doesn’t see the big deal. It’s not like Stiles isn’t in the loop on what they do on these visits to the morgue.

 

So despite the stink-eye Allison is giving them when they get to the car, Stiles does accompany them to the morgue.

 

“I hate to say I told you so…” Allison mutters at Derek when they’re finding themselves once again in front of a cadaver cooler, and Stiles is already pulling the sheet back.

 

“I don’t understand why yo - ” Derek starts, and then he finally gets it.

 

He feels like the air is pushing out of his lungs as he catches a glimpse of the dead guy laying on the slab, and his head starts spinning.

 

“Derek?” Stiles asks, confused as Derek is stumbling to take a few steps back, his eyes still glued to the deceased.

 

The deceased. The funeral director. The funeral director from _Stiles_ ’ funeral home. The one he killed by keeping Stiles alive.

 

The air gets thin around him, his hands are shaking. _He_ did this. He is responsible for the death in this room, and even though he did it to save Stiles, even though the funeral director turned out to be quite the crappy human being, he is still responsible for a death. _No_ , Derek forces himself to admit. Not just one death. He’s responsible for Stiles’ mother as well, and…

 

Derek gasps for air as he spins on his feet, hands reaching for the doorknob.

 

 _Out_. It’s the only thing on Derek’s mind. He needs to get out of here before the presence of the man he killed suffocates him.

 

“Derek?!” Stiles yells after him, but Derek pushes his feet until he can’t hear Stiles anymore, until he reaches the outside air, and tries to gasp for breath, tries to keep his head from exploding.

 

He did this. He’s responsible. And he’s been pushing it to the back of his mind all this time, blinded by his joy of having Stiles back in his life, trying to absolve himself from part of the guilt because the funeral director was a thief. But it doesn’t work that way. And now he feels sick to his stomach, fighting off a panic attack, gasping for air.

 

“Derek? Are you okay?” Stiles comes running out the building, all worry and anxiety, and it somehow makes Derek feel even worse. Because he doesn’t deserve any of it.

 

“I just…” Derek stammers, trying to keep his head from spinning and failing miserably.

 

Allison finds her way outside too, puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, and says, “I tried to warn you.”

 

“You could’ve done a better job,” Derek snaps at her, and he regrets it immediately. “I’m sorry, I…”

 

“That’s okay. I understand,” Allison says, and Derek really should be grateful for the way Allison never seems to get offended.

 

“I don’t,” Stiles says, his face pulled in a frown. “Derek, why are you…?”

 

Derek wants to lie, he does. He wants this all to go away, to ignore it until it stops hurting. But he’s lied enough, and he’s done enough damage, so he blurts out, “It’s my fault that man is dead.”

 

There’s a beat of silence as Stiles just stares at him, dumbstruck. Then he asks, “How? Y-you killed someone?”

 

“I didn’t - ” Derek starts.

 

“You didn’t. That’s why someone died,” Allison cuts him off.

 

“Stop helping,” Derek snaps at Allison, trying to gather his thoughts.

 

“Is someone going to finally explain to me what is going on?” Stiles asks, determined.

 

“Look, you need a ticket to ride this ride,” Allison starts, “And if you lose your ticket, you gotta take someone else’s.”

 

Derek groans at her explanation, but Stiles needs to know, he’s been kept in the dark too long. And the longer Derek fails to tell him, the more he’s going to hate Derek when he finally finds out.

 

“Stop,” Derek says, a hand on Allison’s shoulder. He sighs, then looks at her. “Just… let me?”

 

She nods at him and steps away, heads for the car.

 

“I took someone’s ticket?” Stiles asks, frowning at Derek.

 

“No, you…” Derek shakes his head, “I guess… I gave you someone else’s ticket?”

 

“Someone died because of me then? That man in there… he died because of me?” Stiles asks, and the way his face turns sad, he’s biting the inside of his cheek as he’s trying to keep his head up high, looking straight at Derek… it nearly kills Derek.

 

“It’s… the minute. That’s why it’s a minute. If I keep someone alive for more than a minute, as a way to balance out the universe, I guess, someone…” Derek sighs. “Someone else dies. I don’t know who it will be. It’s a random proximity thing. It- it just happens.”

 

“But you knew it would happen,” Stiles says, his voice broken.

 

“Yeah,” Derek answers, truthfully.

 

Stiles nods, sadly.

 

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Derek tries, his heart pounding in his chest. “I was overwhelmed, just having you there in front of me, having you alive… It was all I could think about. And I couldn’t bring myself to touch you again, to have you die all over again…”

 

“So every minute I’ve been celebrating wasn’t really mine to celebrate,” Stiles says, shaking his head, and he looks so lost that Derek just wants to wrap him up in his arms and hold him close.

 

But Derek isn’t even sure Stiles would let him right now, even if they could without causing him harm.

 

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, the words sound weak to his ears, and he feels sick to his stomach at the way Stiles’ face is closing off to him.

 

“I think I’ll walk home,” Stiles says, wrapping his arms around himself as he finally looks away from Derek.

 

“Stiles, please, just…” Derek tries, as Stiles starts walking past the car. “Please come with us,” Derek calls after him. “Stiles, just say something.”

 

Stiles halts for a second, and looks over his shoulder as he says, “I can’t for the life of me think of anything to say. Oh, I forgot, it isn’t even _my_ life, is it?”

 

And then he’s walking down the road without another glance, and Derek just has to watch him go.

 

***

 

“I need to go find him,” Derek says, pacing around the kitchen. “I need to…”

 

“You need to give him some space, or he’s never going to come back,” Allison tells him.

 

“What if someone recognizes him?” Derek asks, a ball of unease and anxiety settling at the pit of his stomach.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Allison says, “He’s smarter than that.”

 

“He’s upset with me. He might not be thinking straight.”

 

“You don’t give him enough credit,” Allison says.

 

“And you!” Derek turns to her, “Why did you - ?”

 

“You let a person die, Derek,” Allison says bluntly, but Derek can’t blame her for it, “A person that could’ve been me, I might add. And his brother cares enough about how he died that he hired me to find out who killed him.”

 

“Why did you even take this case?” Derek asks, subdued.

 

“You _want_ me to take this case,” Allison says, all business, “I’m making sure nobody else solves it.”

 

Derek nods, leaning against the worktable. He crosses his arms in front of him, bowing his head down. He knows that Allison is actually trying to protect him in all of this.

 

“Thank you,” Derek finally says, and Allison just nods at him and gives him a pat on the shoulder.

 

***

 

It’s three in the morning when Derek hears the front door of the apartment open, and he’s jumping up off the couch the second he does.

 

Stiles closes the door behind him with a soft click, but doesn’t move away from it when he sees Derek.

 

“Stiles, I…” Derek starts, but freezes when he sees the closed off look on Stiles face.

 

“I have a question,” Stiles says, and the tone of his voice makes Derek still.

 

“Okay…” he says carefully, as a feeling of dread fills him.

 

“Our moms died on the same day…” Stiles says, and Derek feels the bile rise in his throat, because this is it, this is the moment Stiles puts it all together, the deepest darkest secret Derek has ever kept.

 

“Yes,” Derek whispers, his voice barely audible.

 

“The proximity thing, did it…?” Stiles asks, his bottom lip trembling.

 

“Yes,” Derek says, closing his eyes, unable to look at him.

 

He hears Stiles make a choked off noise, and then he says, “Say the words.”

 

Derek takes a shaky breath, and he forces himself to open his eyes, to look at Stiles when he says this.

 

“My mom… died. She just fell over in the kitchen,” Derek says, “And I knew that when Roscoe died, I brought him back. So I touched her, and she was fine again. Like nothing ever happened.”

 

“And you kept her alive for longer than a minute?” Stiles asks, sniffing.

 

“I didn’t know what the consequences would be,” Derek nods, “I just knew she was back, and then… your mom…”

 

Stiles’ face looks broken, tears welling up in his eyes as Derek tries to blink away his own, because he doesn’t _deserve_ them, dammit.

 

“And then your mom died, and it was my fault,” Derek bites out, because Stiles is due the words. “I didn’t know, but it was my fault.”

 

Stiles is nodding at him, his face scrunched together in pain and sorrow.

 

“I didn’t know any of it,” Derek goes on, because he might as well come clean about everything now. “And when my mom kissed me goodnight that evening…”

 

“She died again,” Stiles fills in for him.

 

“Forever,” Derek concludes. “That’s how I knew.”

 

“And you never told me…” Stiles whispers, his breathing shaky and uneven.

 

“I didn’t know how,” Derek starts, “I…”

 

“Stop talking,” Stiles says, the words but a whisper.

 

“Stiles, I - ” Derek tries again, in reflex, but Stiles cuts him off.

 

“Stop talking!” Stiles bites out, loudly.

 

Derek clenches his jaw, holds back all the words he wants to tell Stiles, to apologize, to make things right, to prevent Stiles from hating him… But he figures it might all be too late.

 

“I want to _scream_ , Derek!” Stiles yells out, loudly.

 

And Derek lets him, even though it’s the middle of the night and Scott is in the apartment right next door and he doesn’t know how soundproof the walls are. He just lets Stiles yell.

 

“You knew all along!” Stiles shouts, his voice rough, “You were the reason! You did this to my family! And you never even told me!”

 

The words sting like daggers into his chest, but he know he deserves them.

 

“Do you even know what we went through?!” Stiles yells, completely lost in his own anguish, and Derek doesn’t have the heart to point out that yes, he does know. “How my father suffered? And now he’s completely alone, and I can’t even see him, and you _knew_ all along!”

 

Derek bites back the “I’m sorry”, because he knows it wouldn’t matter now anyway.

 

“I can’t believe you,” Stiles chokes out, gathering a trembling breath, and finally running off into his bedroom - _Derek_ ’s bedroom - slamming the door shut so forcefully the apartment walls shake.

 

It’s like Derek’s feet have a mind of their own as he carefully walks over to the bedroom door, but he doesn’t open it. He doesn’t knock. He just stands there, unable to speak. Until he hears the violent sobbing coming from the other side of the door. Stiles is crying, loud enough for Derek to hear, and Derek puts his hand over his eyes, rubs the tears out of them, as he leans back against the wall and slides down until he’s slumped over on the floor. Roscoe comes to lay a safe distance away from him, making a pitiful noise as he looks at Derek. Derek buries his face in his hands, and he doesn’t hold in the tears anymore.

 

***

 

Even though he hardly got any sleep at all, Derek still makes his way down to the restaurant in the morning. He contemplates knocking on Stiles’ door before he leaves, but decides against it. He figures Stiles doesn’t want to talk to him anyway.

 

When he comes back up to the apartment around noon, with lunch for Stiles that he intends to leave in the fridge with a note, he finds Stiles laying on the couch, his head buried against Derek’s pillow, Roscoe snuggling in his arms. The TV is on, but Stiles’ stare is on nothing in particular.

 

Derek doesn’t talk, he just leaves the sandwich on the coffee table in front of Stiles. Stiles doesn’t look at him, and Derek heads back downstairs, just as quietly as he came in.

 

Scott doesn’t mention the yelling from last night, but he’s regarding Derek carefully, clearly tiptoeing around him. Derek is grateful for the silence though. He hides out in the kitchen all day, leaving Scott to deal with the customers. When Melissa comes to pick up the deliveries, Derek adds a strawberry pie for the sheriff, knowing that Stiles had planned to do so anyway. Melissa’s face lights up when she sees the delivery, and Derek figures that at least someone will have a good day.

 

That evening, when the restaurant closes up and Derek has somehow managed to drag himself through the happenings of the day, he isn’t entirely surprised to find Stiles in the backyard.

 

He watches Stiles move around the beehives for a while, all wrapped up in his beekeeper suit. Stiles knows that he’s watching, Derek can tell from his posture, and eventually Stiles walks over to him, taking off his mask.

 

“Hey…” Stiles says, quietly, but Derek takes it as a win.

 

“Hey,” Derek says back, head bowed down.

 

“I need to… uh…” Stiles starts, tugging the mask under his arm. “I think I need to apologize.”

 

Derek’s head snaps up at Stiles’ words, completely taken aback.

 

“No, Stiles, I…” Derek starts.

 

“You should’ve told me, you should’ve…” Stiles shakes his head, trying to find his words, “I know that you probably couldn’t have told me all those years ago, I mean, we didn’t see each other anymore, with you taken away and all. But now, ever since I’m back, I… you should’ve told me.”

 

“I know,” Derek says, “I just didn’t know how to. I was afraid to lose you, and… I know I should’ve told you.”

 

“ _But_ ,” Stiles goes on, staring at Derek with a sadness over his face. “You lost just as much as I did that day, and you definitely didn’t know what would happen, that my mom…”

 

Derek shakes his head, because he didn’t. He didn’t. And if he had known, if he could do it all over again…

 

“So the things that I said yesterday, blaming you for all of it…” Stiles says.

 

“I am to blame though,” Derek says, because the guilt is eating him up alive. “If I hadn’t been there, if I hadn’t lived next door...”

 

“You didn’t know,” Stiles shakes his head, sadly.

 

“How can you still look at me and see anything other than the man who killed your mother?” Derek asks, and he feels like his soul has been bared and his biggest fears are out for everyone to see.

 

“I see a man who was just a boy and who didn’t mean for all this tragedy to happen,” Stiles whispers, blinking away tears. “A man who is ridden with guilt over something he never wanted to happen, over something he could never have known would happen.”

 

Derek nods, because somehow, Stiles’ words make sense.

 

“You’ve paid the price, even though it wasn’t yours to pay,” Stiles says, “And I was horrible for the things I said to you last night.”

 

“No,” Derek says, “You were… it was understandable. You just found out the truth about your mother’s death.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, fidgeting with the mask under his arm, “I’m sorry for adding to that guilt. It wasn’t fair.”

 

“I’m sorry for not knowing how to tell you the truth,” Derek whispers, “Believe me when I say that I wanted to, that I wanted to tell you everything. I was just so afraid, I didn’t know how to.”

 

“I know,” Stiles says, a tear running freely down his cheek now, as he wipes it away with a gloved hand.

 

He sniffs as he puts on his beekeeper mask, securing it with trembling fingers so every inch of his body is covered up. And then Stiles flings himself in Derek’s arms, and the air pushes out of Derek’s chest with the force Stiles is clinging to him. His arms wrap around Derek’s neck, pulling him close, and the mask of the beekeeper suit is pressing against the side of his face, but Derek doesn’t care, because he’s finally holding Stiles in his embrace.

 

“I believe you,” Stiles mutters, the words muffled through the suit, “Of course I believe you.”

 

Derek tightens his arms around Stiles’ back, reveling in the sensation of feeling Stiles’ chest go up and down against his, of Stiles’ arms securely around his neck, of his gloved fingers threading through Derek’s hair.

 

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispers, his lips brushing up against the suit, and he wishes he could brush them against Stiles’, wishes he could touch Stiles’ skin, caress and kiss and never let go.

 

“We are screwed, Derek,” Stiles huffs, and it sounds like half a laugh and half a sob. “So screwed.”

 

Derek rubs his hands up Stiles’ back, Stiles’ body plastered completely against his.

 

“We’ll be okay…” Derek hushes.

 

There’s a choked off sound that’s definitely a sob coming from Stiles as he buries his masked face in Derek’s neck.

 

“No,” Stiles shakes his head, the mask chafing against Derek’s skin, but Derek doesn’t even think of letting go. “We’re so epically fucked up. I wanna touch you, Derek. I want to…”

 

“I know,” Derek says, closing his eyes as he tries to ignore the pull of his heart. “I know…”

 

Stiles is crying, and Derek can’t even wipe the tears off his face.

 

“I love you,” Derek whispers, so low that he wouldn’t even have known if Stiles had heard him if it wasn’t for Stiles’ sobbing suddenly getting louder.

 

And because he doesn’t know what else to say, how to make any of this better, he just holds on, pulling Stiles tighter within his arms.

 

***

 

Derek nearly drops the plates he’s holding when he sees Sheriff Stilinski tentatively open the door to the shop and step inside. He looks around, seemingly somewhat out of place - Derek wonders if it’s the lack of uniform, since he knows the sheriff hasn’t been back to work after Stiles’ death. Then his eyes fall on Derek and John makes a tiny wave at him. Derek forces himself to smile, despite the spike in his heartbeat, the clamminess of his hands.

 

“Hello Sheriff,” Derek gets out, instead of asking him what the hell he’s doing here.

 

Derek prays to whoever is to thank for Stiles being out - “The local library has a good section of magic and all that dark stuff, I’ve heard. Maybe I’ll find something on those statues and what they’re for in there?” - but he can come back any minute now, just walk into the shop and stand face to face with his father. They need to get him a new phone, dammit.

 

“I do love those pies Melissa brings me all the time,” John says, with a tiny smile, “So I thought I’d come check out your place.”

 

“That’s really kind of you,” Derek says, his eyes continuously glancing back to the door. He knows he should be happy that Stiles’ father is getting out again, is slowly trying to pick up the pieces of his life, no matter how hard it is. And he _is_. God, all Derek wants is for the Stilinskis to be happy. “Why don’t you come sit at the counter, so we can talk a bit?” Derek asks hastily, already leading John towards the counter, because sitting at the counter means having his back towards the door.

 

“What can I get you, Sir?” Derek asks, swallowing nervously.

 

“What’s good today, Derek?” John asks, and his eyes look tired, but the smile he’s giving Derek looks genuine.

 

“I have a pecan fresh out of the oven that’s a real crowd pleaser,” Derek smiles, “You can get the first cut.”

 

“That sounds lovely,” John nods, “And could I get a coffee with that?”

 

“Decaf,” Derek says with a smile, remembering how John is not supposed to have caffeine anymore, and he hurries to get the sheriff his order, as he keeps sneaking glances at the door.

 

Derek slides a big slice of pie John’s way on the counter, keeping a smaller slice for himself.

 

“Decaf,” John mutters into his cup, but the side of his mouth is curling up in a smile anyway. He looks up again, catching Derek’s eyes. “Stiles would thank you for this.”

 

Derek swallows around the lump in his throat, around the feelings rising up at hearing the sheriff call his son ‘Stiles’.

 

His head snaps up as he hears the bell above the door ring, but to his relief it’s Melissa coming in, and not Stiles. She spots the sheriff sitting in front of Derek, and steps up to them, smiling broadly.

 

“Hi Derek,” she says, then turns to John, “Hello John. You finally made it out here, huh?”

 

Derek is sure he isn’t mistaking the brighter smile on John’s face as he regards Melissa.

 

“You’ve been spoiling me with your deliveries, Melissa,” John says, “But today I had this craving, and I’ve got nothing to do around the house anyway…”

 

“Very good idea,” Melissa beams, and she goes to sit down next to the sheriff.

 

“Take my slice?” Derek asks, feeling confident he can leave the two of them in each other’s company. “Haven’t touched it yet!”

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Melissa says, eyeing the pie enthusiastically. Then she turns to John. “Derek makes a pecan pie that’s to die for!”

 

“Well, lets try this then, shall we?” John says, forking up a bite of the pie. He’s ooh-ing and aah-ing as the bell above the door rings again, and Derek’s mouth goes dry as he sees Stiles barge in.

 

Stiles is holding what looks to be an old book in his hands, and he’s about to call out something to Derek when his eyes land on his father and he freezes. The sheriff, luckily still in conversation with Melissa, is blissfully ignorant to everything happening behind him.

 

Stiles’ mouth is parted, the book clutched tightly, his body frozen to the spot. His gaze is fixed on his father’s back, his bottom lip starting to tremble, and Derek knows he has to get him out of there, _now_.

 

“Customers,” Derek mutters at Melissa and John as he casually - or that’s what he’s aiming for anyway - walks out from behind the counter. He looks back at John, his attention still divided between Melissa and the pie, and walks up to Stiles.

 

“Stiles, you have to move, now,” Derek whispers when he’s close enough, his entire body one big bag of nerves.

 

Stiles doesn’t move an inch, just keeps staring at John, his eyes watering.

 

“Stiles, _please_ ,” Derek pleads, and if he could touch Stiles he would grab him by the arm and pull him away to the private area, but he can’t.

 

Stiles finally nods though, eyes blinking rapidly, and he moves towards the side door, the one that leads to the staircase and the apartments. Derek follows him, risking one last look at the sheriff to make sure he didn’t notice anything, then rushes up the stairs as Stiles runs into the apartment.

 

“He just came in,” Derek says as Stiles starts pacing around the living room. “I didn’t want to throw him out, he’s finally getting out of the house again. But I knew you’d be back, and I didn’t… I didn’t know what to do.”

 

Stiles is nodding, his arms now curled around the book that he’s hugging against his chest, but he doesn’t say a word.

 

“Then he started talking to Melissa, and…” Derek says, then stops suddenly. Melissa. Melissa’s seen Stiles, he’s always hanging around the The Pie Hole, he’s the one sending the deliveries, and… If she keeps going to the sheriff’s house, if she keeps getting closer to him, it’s only a matter of time until John shows her a picture of his deceased son. Or until she spots one around the house.

 

“Stiles, I…” Derek says, shutting his jaw with an audible click. “We need to tell your father.”

 

“ _What_?” It’s the first thing Stiles says, and the old book drops out of his hands and onto the floor.

 

“He’s gonna find out,” Derek says, his heart racing in his chest. “He’s gonna find out sooner or later, through Melissa, by stumbling into you in the shop… How do we even know what his reaction is going to be when we don’t prepare him? If we don’t try to soften the shock a little bit?”

 

“Oh my God…” Stiles says, “I think I’m gonna barf.”

 

Derek huffs out a laugh - trust Stiles to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind - and it makes Stiles finally look up at him and attempt a weak smile.

 

“Derek, this is huge,” Stiles says.

 

“I know.”

 

“This is your secret,” Stiles says, “The thing you’re guarding with your life, basically.”

 

“I know,” Derek says, taking a deep steadying breath, “But it’s your dad.”

 

***

 

“Should I even bother to try and talk to you in private?” Allison asks as she finds Derek and Stiles in the kitchen, Stiles wearing the thick, plastic gloves they use to do dishes with, chuckling as he plays with Derek’s fingers.

 

“You’re playing with fire, you know,” Allison adds, staring at their joined hands. “Or with death, more accurately.”

 

“We’re careful,” Derek says, slipping his fingers away from Stiles’ and taking a few steps back.

 

Stiles snaps off the gloves and goes to sit on the work table far enough away from where Derek has started washing a basket of fruit.

 

“Until your hormones and a false sense of security make it so that you’re not,” Allison says, “Listen, I wish you guys could bang each other until the new year, alright?”

 

“ _Allison_!” Derek chokes out, and he can feel the tips of his ears get red.

 

Stiles just chuckles, sucking his bottom lip into mouth as he looks at Derek like he’s a piece of candy.

 

“Oh, like you two aren’t eye-humping each other already,” Allison rolls her eyes. “But I also know that if you make a mistake, and Stiles is…” She sighs as she looks at Stiles.

 

“Dead?” Stiles fills in, the smile wiped off his face.

 

“Yeah,” Allison says, her face apologetic. “I know that Derek wouldn’t ever forgive himself. And he’s already one giant bundle of guilt.”

 

“Nothing’s gonna happen, alright?” Derek huffs out, annoyed. “We know what the consequences would be.”

 

“I’m just saying…” Allison starts.

 

“Well, _don’t_!” Derek snaps at her, washing the fruit in the sink a little too forcefully.

 

“Fine,” Allison says, holding up her hands in surrender. “Should I not tell you about a, the case I need you on, and b, the fact that I think I might have found your Deucalion?”

 

“What?” Stiles jumps off the counter, staring at Allison wide-eyed.

 

“Allison, what did you…?” Derek starts.

 

“Look, the cremation is today,” Allison goes on, “And I highly doubt you can make a heap of ashes talk, so we kind of need to go straight away.”

 

“Allison,” Derek calls out to her, “ _Deucalion_?”

 

“I’m not one hundred percent sure it’s him yet,” Allison says, “I’ll fill you in on the way. But Derek, we really have to go now. Did I mention the burning of the woman we need to speak with?”

 

“Dammit,” Derek mutters, then yells out, “Scott?!”

 

“Yeah?” Scott sticks his head in the door.

 

“Can you handle the rest of the afternoon alone?” Derek asks, already drying off his hands and leaving the freshly washed fruit in the sink, forgotten. “I have… an emergency.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Scott nods, “It’s calm anyway.”

 

“Great,” Derek says.

 

“I can finish that for you?” Scott nods towards the fruit, looking at Derek expectantly.

 

Derek takes a breath, his eyes going from a hopeful Scott, to the fruit. He knows he’s a horrible control freak that never lets Scott bake any of the pies, even though he knows he’s good at it. And Scott never complains, always takes things with a smile, and… Derek looks at Stiles, who looks back pointedly.

 

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” Derek says, and Scott’s face cracks open in a smile.

 

“Save me a slice of whatever you’re making, alright, buddy?” Stiles says, slapping Scott on the shoulder.

 

“Yeah, sure!” Scott beams as Derek grabs his keys and walks after Allison.

 

They get in the car, Stiles in the back behind Allison, so he’s at the safest distance from Derek.

 

“What did you find about Deucalion?” Stiles asks Allison, his voice filled with nerves.

 

“I have a few feelers out, you know, contacts,” Allison says. “And it turns out that my dad actually knows about this guy. If it’s the same Deucalion anyway.”

 

“Your dad?” Stiles asks.

 

“I took over the business from him,” Allison says, “He’s supposed to be retired, but he still helps me out regularly.”

 

“And he knows the guy that wanted me dead?” Stiles asks.

 

“Professionally,” Allison clarifies, “It’s not like they’re best buds, having drinks every week. Besides, I still need to confirm that it’s actually this Deucalion. But then again, how many people called Deucalion dabble in magic anyway?”

 

“That’s gotta be him,” Derek says, and he can see Stiles nod in the rearview mirror.

 

“Probably, yes,” Allison says, “This guy… he owns some kind of magic shop. Mostly touristy stuff, halloween hocus pocus and stuff.” She waves her hand. “But my dad says that’s just a front. That he’s actually seriously involved in it.”

 

“Real magic?” Derek quirks an eyebrow at her.

 

“Yeah, well, if anyone told me before I met you that there’d be a guy that could raise the dead with one touch, I wouldn’t have believed it either,” Allison says at his incredulous look.

 

“Fair point,” Derek tilts his head.

 

“So the magic dude wants the bronze statues with magic symbols on it?” Stiles says, “And he wants it bad enough to hire someone to kill.”

 

“We need to figure out what these statues can do,” Derek says.

 

“Actually…” Stiles starts, “I forgot to tell you, with the whole…” He waves his hand around absentmindedly. “‘my dad showing up at The Pie Hole’ and everything. That book I found at the library…”

 

“You found something?” Derek asks, glancing curiously into the rearview mirror.

 

“It has those symbols,” Stiles says, “And way more, of course. And a whole text beside it, which I’m guessing is an explanation?”

 

“So what does it say?” Allison asks.

 

“I don’t know,” Stiles shrugs. “It’s written in archaic Latin.”

 

“Of course it is,” Derek all but rolls his eyes.

 

“I have a friend that knows archaic Latin,” Allison says, “We went to high school together. She’s a genius basically.”

 

“She knew archaic Latin in _high school_?” Stiles says, “Wow. That’s one impressive smart cookie.”

 

Derek can’t help but snap his eyes over at Stiles, and of course Stiles catches him.

 

“Don’t worry, boo,” Stiles says, grinning as he coos at Derek. “You’re still my number one, archaic Latin knowledge or not.”

 

Derek just shoots him a look.

 

“You guys would just be one big public display of affection if you had a chance, wouldn’t you?” Allison shakes her head as she flips out her phone.

 

“If we had a chance…” Derek sighs quietly, and his entire body aches for Stiles.

 

“Sorry,” Allison mutters, then calling out into her phone, “Lydia! It’s Allison. Listen, I need your expertise on something.”

 

As Allison starts chatting away into her phone, Derek looks into the mirror again and catches Stiles’ eyes. He smiles weakly at him, and for the millionth time, Derek wishes he could just reach out and grab Stiles’ hand in his.

 

***

 

Derek is definitely grateful his couch is so comfortable, since he’s been sleeping on it ever since he gave his bed to Stiles. They’ve been talking about buying a second bed, maybe putting it on the other side of the bedroom, but they haven’t quite decided yet.

 

Stiles has offered to take the couch about a million times over, but Derek refuses. He’s comfortable on the couch anyway.

 

Roscoe takes turns. Sometimes he’ll sleep in the bed with Stiles. Because even though Stiles claimed that having an animal in your bed is highly unsanitary, Derek has found them snuggling up together under the covers more than once. About half the time though, Roscoe will stay in the living room with Derek, curled up on the one-seater across the room. Derek thinks that maybe it’s a silly thought, but he’s pretty sure Roscoe does it so Derek doesn’t feel abandoned.

 

Derek rolls over on the couch when his phone starts buzzing. He was half on his way to dozing off, but Stiles’ name on his screen - yes, they finally bought Stiles a phone - makes him smile anyway.

 

“You realize you’re one room away from me, right?” Derek smiles into the phone.

 

“Derek…” Stiles says, hums contently almost.

 

“Were you really that lazy that you couldn’t even get out of bed?” Derek chuckles.

 

“I didn’t trust myself…” Stiles says, and his voice sounds… strangled somehow.

 

“Stiles…?” Derek asks, his heartbeat shooting up.

 

“Didn’t trust myself not to touch you,” Stiles goes on, his voice heavy and winded. “... if I saw you.”

 

There’s a hint of a moan escaping Stiles’ lips, and Derek’s cock twitches as the realization dawns on him of what Stiles is doing.

 

“Stiles, are you…?” Derek asks, his heart drumming in his ears as heat pools down to his groin.

 

“I was thinking of you,” Stiles breathes out, and there’s no mistaking what he’s doing anymore now.

 

“Of me?” Derek asks, closing his eyes.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles huffs out, his lips smacking before he goes on languidly, “Thinking of you, of your lips, of your body…” Derek can’t help but let his hand slip down his stomach, trailing towards his half-hard cock. “Your voice. I love your voice, Derek.”

 

“I love your voice, too,” Derek whispers, dipping his fingers underneath the waistband of his boxer shorts and wrapping them around the base of his cock.

 

“And I got hard,” Stiles breathes out, a whimper accentuating his words.

 

“You got hard thinking of me?” Derek asks, slowly stroking up his dick, his thumb rubbing over the head.

 

“You have no idea what you do to me, Derek,” Stiles says, swallowing so hard Derek can hear it over the phone. “I could get hard just from your smell. We need to switch beds from time to time, Derek. I want to bury myself in sheets that smell like you. I need…”

 

“ _Jesus_ , Stiles,” Derek groans, cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he speeds up the rhythm of his strokes.

 

“Are you touching yourself, too?” Stiles asks, a slight trembling in his voice.

 

“What do you think?” Derek asks, huffing out a breathless laugh. “I was about ready to come the second I heard you like this. Fuck, Stiles. I’d just…”

 

“What would you do to me?” Stiles asks, his voice ragged, speckled with little moans and grunts. “Where would you touch me?”

 

“Everywhere,” the words tumble out of Derek’s mouth. “I’d touch you everywhere.” He’s squeezing down his shaft, cupping his balls to give them a small fondle. “I’d kiss your lips, suck your tongue in my mouth. I’d run my fingers down your body…”

 

“I want to feel that…” Stiles whimpers, and Derek can even hear the rustling of sheets. “Your fingers, I wanna know if they’re rough or soft. I want them all over me.”

 

“I’d trail them from mole to mole, map out your entire body,” Derek says, the tip of his fingers smearing pre-come over his cock, slicking himself up to ease the strokes.

 

“I’d want them inside me,” Stiles whispers, and he sounds almost _high_ to Derek. He inhales sharply, then lets out a shuddering moan. “Your fingers opening me up.”

 

“I could do that…” Derek says, thrusting up into his own fist, the sound of Stiles’ ragged breathing washing over him. “I could open you up nice and slow. My fingers inside you as I’d kiss the inside of your thigh, nipping and sucking.”

 

“Oh God…” Stiles groans, heavily.

 

“You have your hand around your cock, Stiles?” Derek asks, twisting his wrist as he strokes himself urgently.

 

“Y-yeah,” Stiles stammers. “‘m so close…”

 

“Pretend it’s my mouth on you, Stiles,” Derek says, the heat in the pit of his stomach firing up. “My tongue sliding over your cock, as I’m twisting my fingers inside you, opening you up, teasing you…”

 

“It’s you…” Stiles mutters, almost inaudible around his loud breathing, his whimpering moans.

 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Derek says, his eyes squeezed shut. “I’d take you in my mouth as far as I could, Stiles. I’d make you come, and when you were done, I’d get you hard again and ask you to fuck me.”

 

“Oh fuck, _Derek_ ,” Stiles almost chokes on his own breathing, and then he’s letting out a long, wavering groan, and Derek can tell he just came.

 

“The noises you make…” Derek whispers, tightening his fingers around the base of his cock before stroking back up.

 

“I made a mess of your sheets,” Stiles laughs, breathless.

 

“Help me make a mess of these too, Sti - ” Derek swallows hard, pushing the tip of his thumb against the slit of his cock.

 

“Are you close?” Stiles asks, still trying to control his breathing.

 

“Yeah…” Derek answers truthfully.

 

“You’d want me to fuck you, Derek?” Stiles asks, his voice lingering.

 

Derek can only moan encouragingly, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, but Stiles takes it as the yes it’s meant to be.

 

“I’d fuck you with you facing me,” Stiles breathes out, “So that I could kiss you, could see the look on your face as I’m thrusting into you.”

 

“M’yeah,” Derek moans, speeding up his hand, and he’s so close, so close to coming with Stiles’ voice in his ear and the image of Stiles pounding into him in his head.

 

“I’d bury myself deep inside you,” Stiles goes on, “And you’d be so warm and tight around me. And just as you were coming, Derek… I’d whisper that I love you.”

 

That’s all it takes for Derek to get over the edge, and he comes all over his hands and his boxer shorts, a strung out groan falling off his lips. He’s still gasping for breath, wiping his sticky hand off on the sheets, when Stiles says, “I think that’s the best sound I’ve ever heard.”

 

“You should’ve heard yourself…” Derek breathes out, tilting his head back in his pillow a bit, his body tingling with the aftermath of his orgasm.

 

“See now why I couldn’t trust myself to come out of this room,” Stiles says, sounding half asleep already.

 

“We wouldn’t have been able to keep our hands off each other,” Derek says, and he knows he should feel sad, but he’s still too caught up in Stiles’ words to let reality take over.

 

“Yeah…” Stiles mutters, drowsily.

 

“Go to sleep, Stiles,” Derek says, closing his eyes himself.

 

“Tomorrow morning, I’m taking out the saran wrap,” Stiles mumbles through the rustling of the sheets. “I’m giving you a good morning kiss.”

 

“Sounds perfect,” Derek says, humming contently.

 

“Night, Der,” Stiles whispers.

 

“Night.” Derek whispers back, but he doesn’t immediately hang up yet and just listens to Stiles’ breathing evening out.

 

***

 

“Derek?” the sheriff frowns as he opens the door. “What are you doing here?”

 

Derek holds up the box from The Pie Hole that he’s holding in his hands.

 

“Is Melissa sick?” John frowns, opening the door wider to let him in, “That you’re doing the deliveries yourself?”

 

“No, Sir,” Derek says, stiffly, and he wonders if he can still get out of it. If he can just go back to the car - around the corner, where Stiles is hiding - and rethink this entire plan of telling the sheriff. But he knows he has to. For Stiles’ sake. For the sheriff’s sake. He has to. “I uh… I actually have something important to tell you.”

 

“Oh?” John asks, leading him into the living room.

 

“And I didn’t want to show up empty-handed, so…” Derek shoves the box awkwardly into John’s hands, who’s looking at him warily.

 

“Derek, are you okay?” John asks him, putting the box down on the coffee table and guiding Derek toward the couch.

 

“Yeah, I…” Derek sits down, takes a deep breath, and finally dares to look at Stiles’ father. “I have something to tell you, and it’s not going to be easy, and you’re probably not going to believe me, but…”

 

“O-kay…” John says, sitting himself down opposite from Derek. “I’m all ears. Try me.”

 

“I don’t know if you…” Derek starts, twisting his hands together to keep them from shaking. “If you believe in… I don’t know, the supernatural, I guess you’d call it?”

 

John frowns deeply. “Not particularly, no. Derek…?”

 

“No, just- just let me say this, okay?” Derek says, then he gets up off the couch. “Actually… Do you have like… a dead plant or something? Or some fruit gone bad? Anything?”

 

“I threw out an apple earlier, one that I’d forgotten about in the bottom of the fridge,” John says, warily, not that Derek blames him.

 

“Can you get it? Like, out of the trash?” Derek says, and he knows just how insane he’s sounding. “It’s just that… you’re never gonna believe me if I’m not able to actually show you. And, I’d rather start off with something small.” Instead of springing an alive Stiles on him, is what Derek doesn’t say.

 

“I don’t know what’s going on, Derek, but - ” John says, but he gets up anyway.

 

“You were all ears, right?” Derek says hopeful.

 

“Yeah,” John nods, and heads over to the kitchen, only to emerge a few moments later with a brown-ish, squishy apple that’s gone bad.

 

He moves to hand it to Derek, who says, “Can you set it down on the coffee table?”

 

John does so, and sits back down.

 

“Okay, so…” Derek says, then rushes out, “There are only two people in the world that know this about me. And I don’t know what would happen to me if everyone found out, but I’m guessing it wouldn’t be good. So I’m hoping I can trust you. I’m hoping that you won’t hang me out to dry. Because I kind of need to tell you. For Stiles.”

 

The sheriff’s face twists in emotion at Stiles’ name. But he nods, regarding Derek carefully.

 

“I uh… I have a gift, I guess you could call it?” Derek says, tentatively.

 

“Son, if you’re gonna tell me you can speak to the dead or something…” John says, and Derek realizes he’s trying out John’s patience.

 

“No, Sir - ” Derek says, focusing on the apple, “If I touch this apple. If I touch any dead thing, it comes back to life.”

 

“Derek…” John says, a scowl beginning to form.

 

“Look!” Derek says, and he waits until John’s eyes are locked on the rotten apple to touch it, and John starts as the apple turns beautiful round and shiny green again.

 

“How did you - ?” John stammers, staring from the apple to Derek.

 

“I don’t know,” Derek says honestly, “It’s just something I can do. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t know why this happens, or… It just does. I touch dead things and they come back to life.”

 

“But… this is impossible,” John says, his eyes fixed on the apple. “This is…”

 

“I know,” Derek says, and the sheriff gets up off the couch again, starts pacing around the room.

 

“This isn’t real,” he says, shaking his head.

 

“But you saw it,” Derek says, “And look… please, look at the apple again.”

 

John does so, keeping a safe distance.

 

“If I touch it again…” Derek says, ticking his finger against the apple, and it promptly goes rotten again under the touch.

 

“It dies again?” John asks, his mouth open in wonder.

 

“Yeah,” Derek says.

 

“Touch it again,” John says, coming closer to Derek and the apple. “Do it again.”

 

“I can’t,” Derek explains, “I can only do it once, with the same dead thing. I touch it once and it comes back to life, I touch it a second time, and it stays dead. And I can’t do a thing about it.”

 

“And if you don’t touch it again?” John asks, his face pensive.

 

“Then it stays alive,” Derek says, “And something else dies in its place.”

 

The sheriff nods, obviously lost in thought, processing it all.

 

“I know how crazy it sounds,” Derek says.

 

“But I saw it with my own eyes,” John says, nodding.

 

“Yeah,” Derek replies, and he’s grateful that John isn’t having a major freak-out yet. Because the hard part is still to come.

 

“This is…” John lets out a deep breath as he plops back down on the couch, “This is amazing. This is…” Then his face turns into a frown again. “Why are you telling me this?”

 

“That’s the thing, Sir,” Derek says, and he knows the moment of truth has arrived. His heart feels like it’s threatening to jump out of his throat. “I… I did something.”

 

“What did you - ?” John asks, cautiously.

 

“Before the funeral,” Derek says, carefully. “I went to see Stiles.”

 

The sheriff slaps his hand in front of his mouth in shock, his eyes narrowed and filled with pain.

 

“I didn’t plan for it…” Derek goes on.

 

“No,” John shakes his head in disbelief, the palms of his hands now covering half his face.

 

“I don’t know an easy way to tell you this,” Derek says, “I feel like there’s no way a person can even grasp this. I mean, he’s your son…”

 

“Are you telling me you brought back my son?” John asks, his voice cracking, hand trembling.

 

“I did,” Derek says, his own breath wavering.

 

“You talked to him, you - ?” John takes in a shuddering breath. “You had a moment with him, before the funer - ?” John chokes up, not able to finish his sentence completely.

 

“Sir,” Derek says, putting his hand on John’s shoulder. John’s eyes are on his, wet and worn. “I kept him alive.”

 

“No, no, no,” the sheriff keeps muttering, shaking fingers in front of his face. “This isn’t true. You can’t just…”

 

“I would never say these things to you if they weren’t true,” Derek says, tightening his hand on John’s shoulder. “You would have reason to shoot me if I was making this up, if I was abusing your emotions like this. But I’m not making this up. I never planned for it, I knew I was playing God when I decided to let Stiles live, but I just… he means too much to me and I couldn’t say goodbye to him.”

 

“He’s alive?” John asks, and it’s no surprise to Derek that the sheriff simply can’t believe him.

 

“He’s alive until I touch him again,” Derek says, nodding. “And I’m not planning on ever doing that.”

 

“Where is my boy?” John asks, pushing himself up off the couch and wavering under the emotion.

 

Derek places a steadying hand on his chest, making sure he doesn’t fall over.

 

“He’s waiting in the car,” Derek says, “We thought you needed a bit of explanation first. We didn’t want you to be unprepared. He’s uh…” Derek smiles gingerly. “He’s concerned about your health.”

 

“This can’t be real…” John whispers again, and it seems like he’s going back and forth from believing to non-believing, for which Derek can hardly blame him.

 

“He’s outside,” Derek says, grabbing his phone from his pocket. “I’ll just call him, tell him to come in.”

 

The sheriff is nodding as Derek presses the phone to his ear. Stiles picks up right away.

 

“Derek?” Stiles asks, and Derek can hear the fear in his voice.

 

“He knows,” Derek says, trying to keep his own words from trembling. “He needs to see you.”

 

“I’m coming,” Stiles says, sniffling. “I’m coming.” And then he hangs up the phone and Derek is pretty sure he’s running from around the corner where the car was parked.

 

It doesn’t take long for the click of the front door being opened, and Derek takes a step back, goes to stand behind the sofa so he doesn’t accidentally get knocked over by Stiles in his hurry to embrace his father.

 

The sheriff is standing stock-still in the middle of the living room, apart from his hands, which are shaking.

 

“Dad?” Stiles says when he finally comes into view, his hair disheveled, his eyes already red.

 

John lets out a pained cry at the sight of his son, and then Stiles flings himself into his father’s arms, and they both start crying. John is saying something as he’s clinging onto Stiles, but the words are made inaudible by sobbing and the way his face is pressed into Stiles’ shoulder.

 

“Dad, I’m so sorry we couldn’t tell you before,” Stiles says, his voice high pitched as he continues to cry, his arms wound tight around his father’s neck. “I’m so sorry. I missed you. I missed you so much.”

 

The sounds the sheriff is letting out are just heartbreaking, and Derek has to look away, wiping his own eyes as he does so.

 

“Dad,” Stiles says, “Dad…” And Derek thinks Stiles just wants to hear the words.

 

Derek soundlessly steps out of the room, into the kitchen, to leave Stiles to have a moment alone with his father. He can just hear the “I love you” John manages to get out before he clicks shut the door and takes a deep breath. He wipes away the wetness on his cheeks, then leans against the sink, looking out through the window, into the backyard. He takes deep, steadying breaths as he tries to clear his head.

 

He isn’t sure how long he stands there, how much time passes, until he hears Stiles call out his name. Then the kitchen door swings open, and Stiles steps through.

 

“Hey, here you are,” Stiles smiles, his eyes red from crying, but his smile is genuine and relieved.

 

“Thought I’d give you some space,” Derek says, and he feels exhausted to the bone but the sight of Stiles smiling makes it all worth it.

 

Stiles just looks at him, that smile tugging at his lips, his eyes watering up again.

 

“What?” Derek asks, suddenly concerned.

 

“Nothing,” Stiles says, shaking his head as he laughs a bit. Then he looks back at Derek, and whispers, “I love you.”

 

***

 

“We’ll figure out a story,” John says, still all worked up, hands flailing about and Derek can definitely see the likeness. “Something about how you knew someone was after you, and you faked your own death. That’ll work. Yeah, that’ll…”

 

“That sounds good, Dad,” Stiles says, clearly amused by his father’s zealousness. “As long as Derek’s secret doesn’t come out. Dad, you understand how important this is, right?”

 

“Yes, of course,” John says, then turns to look at Derek. “You brought me back my son. I wouldn’t…”

 

“Thank you, Sir,” Derek says, nodding gratefully at him.

 

“You must be tired. Are you tired?” John starts rambling again, his hand on Stiles’ arm, as if he needs the physical reassurance that he’s there. Stiles starts to shake his head, with a smile. But John goes on. “Your room is still the same. I didn’t touch it. I mean, I cleaned a bit, but everything is still there. You’ll feel so much better, sleeping in your own room again, and - ”

 

“Uhm…” Stiles starts, somewhat unsure, and he glances at Derek. “I’ve kind of been living with Derek now.”

 

“Oh…” John says, coming to a halt.

 

Derek tries a weak smile.

 

“Oh, no,” John shakes his head, “That’s far too dangerous. Stiles, what if he accidentally touches you? You can’t be anywhere near him. It’s too dangerous!”

 

“Dad, we’re careful, we - Did you just call me Stiles?” Stiles asks, astonished.

 

“It’s what you like to be called, isn’t it?” the sheriff says, his hand on Stiles’ cheek.

 

“Da-ad…” Stiles says, and he flings his arms around his father’s neck again and pulls him in close.

 

“I’ll stay here tonight, Dad,” Stiles says, muttering into the sheriff’s collar. “But then… I don’t know, Derek and I are kinda…” He trails off, and it’s not like Derek even knows how to define what they are either.

 

John pulls away and looks at his son intently, then at Derek. And Derek knows what he’s thinking. It’s stupid, it’s dangerous, it’s making their lives unnecessarily complicated. It’s not like Derek could argue with any of it, but… it’s _Stiles_.

 

“If he touches you…” John says, his hands gripping Stiles’ upper arms.

 

“He doesn’t,” Stiles says, “We don’t.”

 

“Until you accidentally do,” John says pointedly.

 

“I know that you’re worried,” Stiles starts.

 

“He needs time to get used to it,” Derek interrupts, because he doesn’t want to ruin this moment, doesn’t want to start a fight now that Stiles and his father have finally found each other again. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine, Stiles.”

 

“Derek…” Stiles sighs.

 

“Spend the night with your father,” Derek says, “He missed you so much. You probably have so much to catch up on. Everything else… it can wait.”

 

Stiles nods, his arm around his father’s shoulder.

 

“Are you going to be okay?” Stiles asks, worried eyes locked on Derek.

 

“Of course,” Derek nods, smiling encouragingly. He tries not to think of how empty the apartment will feel without Stiles.

 

“I’ll call you before bed, yeah?” Stiles says, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

 

“Okay,” Derek says, glancing over to the sheriff for a second. “But don’t feel obligated, okay? Just… have a good time with your dad.”

 

“Thank you, Derek,” John says, and Derek does an awkward little wave at Stiles before John leads him towards the door. It makes Stiles wave back though, so Derek doesn’t feel too stupid about it.

 

At the door, John pulls Derek into a hug.

 

“Thank you,” he says, giving him a few pats on the back before pulling back.

 

“I care about your son,” Derek says, because he needs to make the sheriff understand.

 

“I know,” John answers, and Derek has the feeling there’s a ‘that’s the problem’ John isn’t adding.

 

***

 

Stiles does call that evening, after his father has gone to bed. He talks about how weird it is to sleep in his own bed again. How Derek better be sleeping in Stiles’ sheets right now - he is - and how he misses him, already. They talk for almost two hours, until Stiles is practically falling asleep and Derek makes him hang up.

 

When everything is silent in the house again, Derek still can’t fall asleep, despite being surrounded by Stiles’ scent.

 

Stiles calls him again in the morning, saying he’s not sure he’ll be in today. He explains how they have to go into the Sheriff’s Station, get out the ruse of Stiles faking his own death and everything. He doesn’t know how long it’ll take, or how well it’ll go.

 

Allison comes in around noon, clutching Stiles’ book and a stack of papers in her arms, dragging Derek off into the kitchen at once.

 

“Allison, what’s going on?” Derek asks, confused.

 

“My friend Lydia, she translated the part of this book that we needed,” Allison says, shoving the book in Derek’s hands. She starts rifling through the stack of loose papers. “And it’s all about dark magic, right? Legends, tales, voodoo whatever.”

 

“Are dark magic and voodoo related though?” Derek asks.

 

“I don’t know, it doesn’t matter,” Allison says, shaking her head as she starts rambling on. “So Lydia’s all laughing because it’s all a bunch of phoney baloney, right? Except we know better.”

 

“Right…” Derek says.

 

“The symbols on Stiles’ statues? You know how he said it was about bringing back the dead?” Allison asks.

 

“Yeah,” Derek says, and he can’t help but feel a tiny spark of hope rising up in his stomach.

 

“Well, it’s not exactly that,” Allison says, “According to Lydia, it’s about stabilizing an essence. The book talks about ghosts, about how it can capture them, can hold them here, can solidify them in the now.”

 

“Ghosts?” Derek asks, confused.

 

“Yes, if you want to keep a spirit here,” Allison explains, “Tether them here.”

 

“O-kay…” Derek says, trying to process it.

 

“But Stiles isn’t a ghost,” Allison says, “He’s already here, he’s already in his own human body. Except… he’s not entirely here. I mean, look at Roscoe. He hasn’t aged since you brought him back.”

 

“And neither will Stiles…” Derek whispers.

 

“Not the way he is now, no,” Allison says. “Because he can go at any moment. A single touch from you and this temporary existence is gone again.”

 

“And this… these statues, this magic…? It can help us?” Derek asks, his heart pounding in his chest.

 

“What if it can bring him back?” Allison asks, “Really bring him back? With aging and mortality and…”

 

“Would that mean…?” Derek asks, tentatively.

 

“That you can grope him?” Allison pulls a face at him. “Yeah, that’d mean that.”

 

“ _Allison_ ,” Derek sighs.

 

“Oh, come on,” she smirks, “As if you’re not dying to get in his pants?”

 

“It’s a little deeper than that, Allison,” Derek scoffs.

 

“I know, Derek,” Allison says, her face softening. “That’s why I’m hoping this…” she holds up the stack of papers with Lydia’s translation, “... can actually help the two of you.”

 

“We need someone that can actually perform this kind of magic,” Derek says, his fingers nervously running over the edges of the old book.

 

“I know,” Allison says, looking at him pointedly.

 

Derek sighs, then says the words he dreads. “We need Deucalion.”

 

***

 

“Derek, Derek!” Scott is knocking on the door of his apartment frantically.

 

He storms in when Derek opens the door for him.

 

“Turn on the TV!” Scott says, but he’s grabbing the remote already himself, and is turning on the news.

 

“That’s Stiles!” Scott calls out astounded, pointing the remote at the TV where there’s currently a news report on ‘the tourist that was killed on the cruise ship’.

 

“It is…” Derek says, and he’s secretly relieved the story is being bought by the media as the reporter is explaining how tourist Gościsław Stilinski faked his own death as a way of protecting himself after a failed homicide attempt on the cruise ship.

 

“People thought he was dead?” Scott calls out.

 

“Yeah, he… uh, he kinda came here for safety,” Derek says, staring at the television screen where old pictures of Stiles have been dug up, and panning views of the Stilinski house are being shown while a voice-over goes into the details of the attempted murder, and how Stiles feared for his safety afterwards and had the world believe he was dead.

 

“That’s just _crazy_ ,” Scott says, in awe, his eyes glued to the screen.

 

“Yeah,” Derek says, a smile appearing on his face as there’s a shot of Stiles and his father, the sheriff’s arm swung around his son’s shoulder.

 

“I said he looked like that dead guy from the news,” Scott grins, and Derek is willing to bet that he knew all along.

 

“Sorry I couldn’t tell you,” Derek says, as the news item ends, and switches to another report.

 

“That’s okay, bro,” Scott says, a genuine smile on his face, “You had your reasons. Keeping Stiles safe, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Derek says, and he’s so grateful that Scott gets it, even if he doesn’t know the whole story. “That was kind of the priority.”

 

“Of course,” Scott says, “I’m just glad it all ended well.”

 

***

 

“So this Deucalion is the reason Stiles was dead?” John asks, carefully turning over one of the bronze statues in his hands.

 

“He wanted these statues that Kali sent me out to get,” Stiles nods, “So Deucalion sent Ennis, to get these from me at all costs.”

 

“So why aren’t we arresting Deucalion then?” John asks, and Derek notes the dangerous edge in the sheriff’s voice while talking about the man that had his son killed.

 

“Besides the fact that we don’t have evidence?” Allison says, “Because we can’t exactly bring up our little chat with Ennis in court…”

 

“Actually…” Stiles says, “I can testify that Ennis revealed who hired him right before attempting to kill me. I mean, it wouldn’t even be a complete lie. Ennis did tell us about Deucalion. I’d just be… twisting the truth about when and where.”

 

“Lying in front of a Judge…” John sighs, cringing at the words. “I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

 

“Extenuating circumstances, dad,” Stiles grins.

 

“I think we’d all like to see Deucalion behind bars,” Derek starts.

 

“Or in a shallow grave…” Stiles mutters, winking at Derek.

 

“But the thing is that we need something from him first,” Derek says, trying hard not to smirk at Stiles.

 

“Which is?” John asks, setting the statue back on the table.

 

“His magic,” Allison says, and John groans as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

 

“Deucalion does dark magic,” Derek explains, “And we think he might have a way of turning Stiles… completely alive again.”

 

“How is he not alive now?” John frowns, reaching out to place a hand on Stiles’ forearm.

 

“He is,” Derek says, “But he doesn’t really live by nature’s rules anymore. It’s like he’s in limbo. He won’t age, I don’t even know what it means for getting sick, or - or, any of it, really. And if I ever so much as touch him again, he’s dead forever. So…”

 

“So this Deucalion can turn him back to normal? To the way he was?” John asks.

 

“That’s what we’re hoping for,” Stiles says, giving a weak smile to his father.

 

“We know he wants these statues,” Allison says, “Badly. So we’ve got leverage.”

 

“How do we know it’ll work?” John asks, “Or that he won’t screw us over?”

 

“We were hoping you and your sheriff’s uniform and gun could help us persuade him,” Stiles says, looking hopeful at his father.

 

“Oh boy…” John sighs, but he doesn’t say no.

 

“Also, I think we should take Roscoe with us,” Derek says, “Have Deucalion do this stuff on him first.”

 

“ _Roscoe_?” Stiles calls out, “But what if something goes wrong?”

 

“If Deucalion can do this thing, I’d prefer Roscoe to live out his years the way a normal dog would,” Derek says, even though the thought of Roscoe dying pains him greatly. “But, if something goes wrong… I’d rather it be on Roscoe than on you, Stiles.”

 

“I second that!” John says vehemently.

 

“You don’t even know who Roscoe is!” Stiles calls out at his father, somewhat indignant.

 

“ _A dog_ , apparently,” John says, “And I know how heartbreaking it is to lose a pet, but Stiles, you’re more important.”

 

“You are,” Derek confirms, taking in Stiles’ crestfallen face.

 

“I think that’s settled then?” John says as he gets up. “I’ll go put on my uniform and grab my gun, and we’ll pay this Deucalion a little visit.”

 

“I’m gonna call my dad,” Allison says, taking her phone out of her pocket. “He knows his way around a gun, and he knows about Deucalion. I think we can probably use all the help we can.”

 

The sheriff nods at her before he heads up the stairs, and Allison disappears into the kitchen to make her phonecall.

 

Stiles lets out a deep breath.

 

“If I smoked, this would be the moment I’d sneak out and light one up,” Stiles says.

 

“Nervous?” Derek asks, as he tries not to think about all the ways this could go wrong.

 

“Terrified,” Stiles admits with a jittery laugh.

 

“Go get some fresh air?” Derek suggests, and Stiles nods as he heads over to the sliding glass door that leads from the living room to the backyard.

 

He slides it shut again when he’s on the other side, and Derek sees him take a deep breath of fresh air, closing his eyes as he slowly exhales again. Derek fixes his eyes on the rise and fall of Stiles’ chest, on the set of his shoulders, on the curve of his adam’s apple as he swallows away his nerves.

 

When Derek’s gaze reaches Stiles’ face, he knows he’s been caught staring, Stiles smirking at him now. Derek can feel a small blush burn on his cheeks, but it’s not like he’s been hiding his feelings for Stiles anyway, so he isn’t too embarrassed. Stiles takes a step closer to the door, eyes locked with Derek as he places his palm flat on the transparent surface, fingers spread. He looks at Derek expectantly, the soft smile tugging at his lips drawing Derek closer, the sincerity in his eyes closing the gap as Derek takes the few steps to the window, sealing his hand over Stiles’. The glass feels chill under his skin, but his fingers line up perfectly with Stiles’.

 

Stiles moves his fingers a tiny bit to the side then, just enough for Derek’s to fit between if they weren’t divided by the layer of glass. Derek rests his forehead against the window, eyes searching for Stiles’ again. Stiles, only a fraction of an inch shorter than Derek, presses his forehead against the other side, and they’re practically nose to nose. Stiles’ face is a bit blurred because of the distortion of the glass, but Derek is staring straight into Stiles’ liquid amber eyes and he wills himself to forget that the glass is between them. He wants to pretend he can just lean in a fraction more and press his lips against Stiles’ willing ones, feel Stiles’ breath tickle against his skin…

 

“Oh _Jesus_ …” Derek hears behind him, and he breaks away from the window to find the sheriff rubbing his fingers over his eyes, letting out a weary sigh.

 

“Sorry, Sir,” Derek mutters, embarrassed, and then the door slides open behind him and Stiles steps back inside.

 

“You ruined the moment, Dad,” Stiles says casually, and the door clicks shut again.

 

“You’re cleaning the glass, Stiles,” John says pointedly, and Derek kind of wants the earth to open up and swallow him from this embarrassing moment.

 

“Rude,” Stiles shakes his head, but he winks at Derek, which makes him feel slightly better.

 

“You were dry-humping my window, son,” John says, and of course that’s the moment Allison chooses to step back into the living room, her eyebrows shooting up at John’s remark.

 

“What the hell did _I_ miss?” Allison asks, amused.

 

“A romantic moment!” Stiles interjects, and Derek just groans.

 

“Between you and the window?” Allison chuckles.

 

“Can we _please_ forget this happened and focus on Deucalion now?” Derek asks, clenching his jaw.

 

John nods, and Allison chuckles some more, but then John is grabbing his sheriff’s jacket and Allison says how her dad will meet them at The Pie Hole when they go to pick up Roscoe, and Derek is grateful for the distraction.

 

“Hopefully soon we won’t need a plane of glass between us, right?” Stiles whispers at Derek as they’re heading out, and Derek has to grip his hands tightly together not to reach out and touch Stiles.

 

***

 

“This is my dad,” Allison says, introducing Chris Argent to them, “I brought him up to speed on everything, and he’s uh… actually more familiar with all this stuff than I thought.”

 

“Magic?” Stiles asks, squinting his eyes at Chris.

 

“That too,” Chris says, “I’ve spent most of my life as a private detective and over the years… lets just say not every case can be as easily explained as others. There are things the police can’t touch…” He looks at John, gives him a weak apologetic nod of the head. “No offense.”

 

“None taken,” John says, “If you can help my son, I’d be more than grateful for your expertise.”

 

Chris nods at him, then says, “Deucalion’s little trinket store is a front to hide the fact that he’s dealing in actual magic.”

 

“Hiding in plain sight,” Derek interjects.

 

“Exactly,” Chris says, “And he’s powerful. Don’t be fooled by anything. You’ll go in, seeing a blind man - ”

 

“He’s blind?” Stiles asks.

 

“Technically, yes,” Chris goes on, “But he has ways of seeing. Don’t think he won’t see you coming a mile away.”

 

“Now that’s just confusing,” Stiles mutters.

 

“What I’m saying is, we have to be careful,” Chris says, “But we may have one advantage.”

 

“What’s that?” John asks.

 

“He owes me one,” Chris says, “I’ve had dealings with him in the past. I’ve inadvertently helped him out. And he said he was in my debt.”

 

Deucalion’s little magic shop looks inconspicuous from outside. It has a big wooden sign above the display window, and an actual cauldron behind the glass, alongside a whole bunch of magic trinkets. The inside has shelf upon shelf filled with books, little statues, pendants, various sized jars and flasks filled with herbs and what not. The smell of patchouli hangs heavy in the air.

 

“Mister Argent,” comes the voice of a man stepping outside a back room, behind his counter. He’s wearing dark glasses and an eerie smile.

 

“Deucalion,” Chris says politely, turning towards the man.

 

“You bring interesting company,” Deucalion says, tilting his head slightly.

 

Deucalion looks younger than Derek had imagined somehow. But his grin is macabre and Derek has no trouble believing this is the man responsible for Stiles’ murder.

 

Deucalion looks right at Stiles and Roscoe - who is plastered against Stiles’ leg - even though he really shouldn’t be able to see.

 

“Interesting…” he mutters again, honing in on Stiles with what seems like genuine inquisitiveness.

 

“I take it you see what’s going on?” Chris says, unapologetic about his words.

 

“I see that he’s unbound,” Deucalion says, stepping closer to Stiles.

 

“Can you… _bind_ me then?” Stiles asks, jaw clenched as Deucalion steps into his personal space, regarding Stiles like he’s a lab rat, and Derek has to keep himself from reacting.

 

Deucalion huffs out a laugh, and turns away from Stiles, walking back towards his counter.

 

“I know what you can do, Deucalion,” Chris says, following him.

 

“I think you know a hell of a lot,” Deucalion says, trailing his finger over the edge of the counter, like he’s taking his time, like he’s enjoying this.

 

“I know that you owe me one,” Chris says, tilting his head up, staring Deucalion down.

 

Deucalion nods, the corner of his mouth edging up. “And you also know that I’m missing a crucial piece for what you’re asking of me.”

 

“The crucial piece that was worth killing for, right?” Derek blurts out, trying hard to reign in his anger.

 

“Awww,” Deucalion says, jeering, “This one’s angry.”

 

“He’s not the only one,” John says, the authority clear in his voice as he rests his hand on his gun.

 

“Alright.” Deucalion nods, pausing a second to think. Then he nods towards the back room. “Why don’t we talk in there?” He steps through the door, and yells over his shoulder, “Someone put the closed sign on the door, okay?”

 

Deucalion goes to sit down on a wide couch against the far wall of the office, crossing his legs as he spread his arms wide over the back.

 

“So you have my statues,” Deucalion says, “And you want me to use them to turn your friend… whole again?”

 

“The dog goes first,” Stiles says, swallowing nervously.

 

“Ah yes, the dog,” Deucalion says, “Now that’s interesting, too.”

 

“Can you do it?” Chris asks, and the way Deucalion snorts makes Derek want to punch him in the face so badly.

 

He can see the sheriff’s fingers twitch against his gun, and he knows he’s not the only one dangerously close to losing their temper. So Derek takes a step closer to John, catches his eye and gives him a reassuring nod. They’re not in this alone.

 

“What’s in it for me though?” Deucalion asks.

 

“You get to _not die_ ,” John says through gritted teeth, “You get to live, and you get to go to trial for hiring someone to murder my son.”

 

“And yet here he is, alive,” Deucalion taunts.

 

“You listen here - ” John starts, but Allison and Derek both stop him, trying to reign him in, as Chris steps in.

 

“We are basically here to make a business deal with you, Deucalion,” Chris says, his hands on his hips. “You do whatever it is you have to do to turn this man and this dog the way they’re supposed to be. Bind them, or whatever the hell you want to call it. And you get to keep those bronze statues _if_ you ever get out of jail again for commissioning a murder.”

 

“I didn’t commission a murder,” Deucalion says, shaking his head, “I hired a guy to get me some statues for the shop. And you can’t prove otherwise.”

 

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Allison says, almost as a challenge.

 

Deucalion takes a minute to ponder, then nods his head slowly.

 

“The dog first?” he asks, by way of agreeing to their deal.

 

***

 

It takes a few hours for Deucalion to prepare. A few nerve wracking hours, in which Derek tries not to lose his mind. Could it be? Could it be that in a matter of time, he would be able to touch Stiles? Able to pet Roscoe? The thoughts of everything that could go wrong play around in his head. Derek has no trouble admitting he is scared. But he knows that there is really no other way.

 

Deucalion calls them together when he’s ready. He leads them into a room with no windows. There are candles spread out over the floor, symbols drawn around them. There’s a smell in the air that Derek can’t really define, but it prickles his nose. He feels ridiculous, like he stepped into a movie about witches, but his brain keeps trying to tell him that no, this _is_ real.

 

“What’s his name?” Deucalion asks, nodding towards Roscoe.

 

“Roscoe,” Derek says, and Roscoe dutifully looks up at Derek and perks his ears. Derek smiles at him, saying, “Good boy.” Roscoe wags his tail happily, and Derek prays to God this won’t be the last time he does so.

 

“Roscoe needs to step into the circle,” Deucalion says, and he places the two bronze monkey statues on either side of the circle as Derek verbally guides Roscoe towards the right spot, commanding him to sit still.

 

“Alright,” Deucalion says, clearing his throat. “I’m going to ask you not to interrupt me while I’m doing the ritual. Not to speak. Not to let the dog step out of the circle.”

 

“I’m just going to remind you that if these rituals go wrong…” John says, his voice cold as ice, “... I have a gun and a Sheriff’s badge. You have caused me to lose my son once. You won’t get away with doing it a second time, are we clear?”

 

“Crystal,” Deucalion says, and for once, he doesn’t sound smug or mocking.

 

Stiles steps in for a second, ruffling the fur of Roscoe’s neck before dropping a kiss on the top of his head. Derek knows that it’s a goodbye, for if things go wrong with either one of them, and Derek wishes he could do the same.

 

When Stiles steps back next to Allison, Allison reaches out to grab both Stiles and Derek’s hands. Derek squeezes her hand back, and he has no doubt in his mind Stiles is doing the same.

 

“No interruptions,” Deucalion says once again, as an indication that he’s starting, and he puts his hands on each of the statues.

 

He’s not wearing his glasses anymore, and his eyes are white before he closes them and starts muttering words Derek can’t understand. He’s pretty sure it’s archaic Latin, and the muttering slowly turns louder, until it switches into chanting. Derek isn’t sure what exactly is happening - or what is _supposed_ to happen anyway - but the air gets heavy as the candles start flickering, and Roscoe lets out a whimpering sound. He doesn’t move though, just sits there inside the circle, his ears down.

 

Derek can feel Allison squeeze his hand tighter, and he takes a step closer to her, shoulder bumping against hers.

 

He takes a deep breath, finding it hard to get enough as the air gets thicker and thicker as Deucalion’s chanting gets louder and louder. There’s a ringing in his ears as it feels like the pressure in the room has gone up, and then Derek feels woozy all of a sudden, and it almost feels like he’s missed a few moments when the pressure finally gets sucked out of the room and the fog around his brain clears up. Deucalion stops chanting, takes his hands off the statues, and sags back on the floor.

 

Roscoe lets out a loud bark, shaking his entire body, then barks a few times more.

 

“It’s done,” Deucalion says, and his voice sounds kind of hoarse as he gets up off the floor.

 

“He’s back to normal?” Derek asks, hesitantly.

 

Roscoe barks again, as if to answer Derek, and Derek thinks that it does seem like Roscoe feels some kind of change in himself.

 

“He is,” Deucalion says, heading for the door. “Excuse me, I need a glass of water and about half an hour to recharge before I can work on the kid.”

 

“I’ll come with you,” Chris says, and his tone conveys perfectly that he isn’t letting Deucalion out of his sight.

 

Allison shoots him a grateful smile.

 

Derek goes to kneel down in front of Roscoe, his heart pounding in his throat.

 

“I guess there’s only one way to test it?” Stiles says softly, his voice strangled.

 

“Yeah…” Derek says, holding out his hand. It’s trembling, and Roscoe whimpers and scutters back a bit, as if he knows Derek isn’t supposed to touch him.

 

“It’s okay, boy,” Stiles whispers.

 

“Roscoe, I’m sorry…” Derek hushes, apologizing in case Deucalion’s magic didn’t work. And then his fingers brush against Roscoe’s fur, and Roscoe whimpers at the touch. Derek realizes he’s holding his breath as he’s pushing his palm flat against the back of Roscoe’s neck, making sure his fingers touch the skin underneath the fur and… Roscoe makes a surprised yelp, but he’s still warm and moving and breathing and _alive_ underneath Derek’s touch.

 

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, slapping his hands over his mouth. “It worked.”

 

Derek wants to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat as he’s working his fingers through Roscoe’s fur. Roscoe’s looking at him like he hasn’t got a clue what’s going on, and Derek just drops down over Roscoe, throwing his arms around him. Roscoe starts barking, then licks Derek all over his face, slobbering enthusiastically. It’s gross, but Derek doesn’t care one bit, and he buries his face in Roscoe’s fur, squeezing his eyes shut to stop them from tearing up.

 

“I did not sign up for this,” Derek can hear Allison say, and her voice is trembling.

 

Derek laughs as he looks up and finds her teary-eyed, shaking her head at Derek and Roscoe.

 

“She doesn’t want it to be known she’s a big old softie,” Stiles teases, but his eyes are red, too.

 

Derek just nods, smiles broadly as Roscoe swipes his tongue over his face a few more times.

 

“That’s disgusting,” Allison says, sweeping her hand over her eyes.

 

“I know,” Derek finally says around the huge lump in his throat.

 

Roscoe’s nose is wet and pressed up against Derek’s cheek, as he continues to yelp contently.

 

“Promise me you won’t lick his face when Deucalion’s done with you,” Allison says to Stiles.

 

“Hah!” Stiles laughs loudly, “I’m not sure I can make those kinds of promises.”

 

Allison groans, and Derek holds Roscoe a little tighter as Stiles winks at him.

 

***

 

Deucalion replaces the candles before he starts the ritual on Stiles. Derek is sitting on the floor, hugging Roscoe to his chest. Roscoe, who doesn’t seem to get tired of the scratching behind his ear, of the continuous hugging, of slobbering his tongue all over Derek’s face. Derek’s eyes are fixed on Stiles though, who’s currently wrapped in the arms of his father. John is whispering things in Stiles’ ear, and Stiles keeps nodding, his eyes red and blinking rapidly.

 

“It’ll be okay,” Allison says as she comes to sit down next to Derek, her hand reaching out to pet Roscoe.

 

Derek nods, even though the tightness in his chest tells him he shouldn’t be so sure of this.

 

“Thanks,” Derek says, finally looking away from Stiles, “For getting your father to help. For… for everything.”

 

“We’re all in this together, right?” Allison shrugs.

 

Then Deucalion calls over Stiles, and Derek can’t help but get up on his feet as Stiles walks over to the circle.

 

Stiles clears his throat as he steps inside the lines, faces Deucalion.

 

“I’m ready,” Stiles says, his voice surprisingly strong.

 

Deucalion nods, and places himself where he was before, hands reaching out to touch the statues. Stiles risks another glance over his shoulder, at Derek. Derek nods at him, forcing himself to smile, and Stiles returns the nod before bringing his attention back to Deucalion.

 

The ritual is the same as before. Deucalion starts muttering in archaic Latin, until it turns into soft chanting. The air gets heavier again, like a thick cloud that Derek can’t breathe in. All around them, the pressure seems to go up once more, as his ears start ringing. There’s that woozy feeling again, the feeling that there’s a few seconds of time that have gone missing, and then the air feels like it gets sucked out of the room for a second, before everything turns back to normal and Stiles falls down onto his knees, breathing heavily. The flames on the candles go out, and Deucalion stops his chanting, and drops his head into his hands.

 

The sheriff takes a step forward, towards Stiles, before he catches himself and freezes, wary of the “no interruptions” warning made by Deucalion, no doubt.

 

“It worked,” Deucalion says, as an answer to the unspoken question. His voice is gritted, his face pale, and it’s clear that performing these two rituals have taken a lot out of him.

 

“Son?” John asks as he kneels down beside Stiles, a hand on his back.

 

“I’m okay,” Stiles says, a little winded, but he smiles up at his father.

 

“Are you sure?” John asks, palming Stiles’ cheek.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, clearing his throat again, “It just feels a bit weird, that’s all. But I’m fine, it’s… I just need to catch my breath again.”

 

“Weird how?” Derek asks, and it’s only out of the corner of his eye that he notices Deucalion and Chris leave the room again.

 

“I don’t know?” Stiles says, “Like… like something went through my body? Like, I can feel a change. Which is good, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Derek says, because he thinks so. Everything seems to have gone the way it did with Roscoe, and Stiles is still standing there, breathing, a lively blush on his cheeks.

 

“So…?” Stiles asks, with a smile, as he starts reaching out his hand towards Derek.

 

Derek’s heart rate spikes up at the sight of Stiles’ hand coming closer to him, but then John’s grabbing Stiles’ wrist, pulling him away from Derek.

 

“No,” he calls out, “You can’t take that risk, Stiles.”

 

“ _Dad?_ ” Stiles says, staring at his father with confused eyes.

 

“What if something went wrong, Stiles?” John asks, vehemently.

 

“You saw that it was fine with Roscoe!” Stiles says.

 

“Roscoe’s a dog,” John says, “We can’t know it works the same way on you. What if he touches you and you die? How can you even think about taking that risk?”

 

“Dad, we knew that this was what we were going to do after Deucalion fixed me,” Stiles says, “I need to be able to touch Derek.”

 

“No, you don’t,” John says, his voice heated, “You don’t need Derek to survive. He can only end up killing you.”

 

Derek understands where the sheriff is coming from, but the words still hurt.

 

“How can you say that?” Stiles asks, and as Stiles tries to take a step closer to Derek, John pulls him away.

 

“I’m sorry, Derek,” John says, and Derek can see in his eyes that this isn’t easy for him either. “But I need my son to be safe.”

 

“I understand that,” Derek says, swallowing hard, “But we did all this so he would be safe. You saw the same thing happen with Roscoe.”

 

“I can’t allow it,” John says, jaw clenched.

 

“ _Dad_ …” Stiles whispers, shaking his head minutely at his father.

 

“I _love_ you, Stiles,” John pleads, his voice raw. “I can’t handle losing you again. Not again.”

 

Derek can see Stiles’ resolve crumbling in front of him. Every second John comes closer to crying - the trauma of losing his son still fresh in his memory - Stiles looks more and more indecisive.

 

“Take your dad home, Stiles,” Derek says eventually, his voice small.

 

And Derek doesn’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Stiles does what he says, but he understands that Stiles really has no choice.

 

***

 

“Dude, it’s about time you showed that dog some affection,” Scott says as he walks into the kitchen to find Derek playfully feeding Roscoe, and petting him all the while.

 

“Finally got some decent allergy meds,” Derek smiles, and Roscoe gnaws on his treat happily.

 

“Never understood why you got a dog when you were allergic,” Scott mutters, shaking his head, as he dumps some dirty dishes into the sink.

 

“You can’t help who you end up loving,” Derek says, looking into Roscoe’s big brown eyes.

 

Roscoe coughs up a piece of meat, only to immediately chew it up again.

 

“Nice,” Scott laughs, and Derek shakes his head amused, getting up off the ground.

 

He freezes in his movement when he sees Stiles walk into the restaurant. Suddenly his hands feel clammy and there’s a tug in his chest. When Stiles’ eyes meet his, Stiles smiles widely and he rushes over immediately.

 

“What are you doing here?” Derek asks as he steps out into the restaurant, “Your dad…”

 

“I snuck away,” Stiles says, his eyes twinkling, “He’s off to arrest Deucalion.”

 

“He’s going through with that?” Derek asks, because a part of him thought maybe the sheriff was going to drop the charges after helping them out.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugs, brushing over it, “He’s not sure they can make the charges stick though, but we’ll see.” Stiles is practically vibrating, bouncing on his feet. “Do you have some time?”

 

Derek looks back at the kitchen, then at Stiles. “Yeah, but - ” the words hitch in his throat as Stiles reaches out and just grabs Derek’s hand, wraps his fingers around Derek’s, without gloves, without warning, just one trembling hand seizing Derek’s as he freezes up and stares at Stiles.

 

“What are you doing?” Derek breathes out, shocked.

 

“Pulling off a bandaid?” Stiles says, his voice breathless, cracking a smile as he squeezes his fingers around Derek’s.

 

“You didn’t even give me warning!” Derek calls out, but he squeezes back around Stiles’ hand to stop himself from shaking.

 

Stiles’ skin is warm and smooth, his grip tight, and Stiles is still standing there, still breathing, still grinning at him like he’s a kid on Christmas morning.

 

“Do you have some time?” Stiles repeats, pointedly, and Derek can feel his hand shaking in his.

 

“Oh my God…” Derek breathes out, looking down at their entwined hands.

 

 _Finally_ , is all he can think. And he suddenly remembers that first kiss they shared, so many years ago, at the cemetery. How did they end up here? How did everything finally come full circle?

 

“Well?” Stiles asks hesitantly, shaking Derek out of his thoughts.

 

“Scott!” Derek yells out, way too loud, making Stiles start and about half a dozen customers turn their heads at him. “Sorry…” he mutters, and brings up his free hand to cover his mouth as he giggles.

 

“Yeah?” Scott sticks his head out of the kitchen, looking bewildered at Derek.

 

“Uhm…” Derek says, looking from Stiles back to Scott. “You can manage things on your own for a while, right?”

 

“Yeah, sure, where are you - ?” Scott starts, but Derek is tugging at Stiles’ hand - _oh my God, he can actually pull Stiles along now_ \- as he calls over his shoulder, “Thanks, buddy!” and heads for the private area.

 

Stiles is chuckling all the way as they rush up the stairs, his hand still firmly around Derek’s and Derek doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to let go.

 

The door to Derek’s apartment clicks shut behind them, and it kind of knocks the wind out of Derek because here he is now, standing in front of Stiles, Stiles’ thumb gently rubbing over the back of Derek’s hand.

 

“You’re alive,” Derek blurts out in wonder, and it feels like such a stupid thing to say but Derek still can’t comprehend what is happening. He thinks he might wake up at any second now, and he’ll be back to a life where he’s condemned  to never touch Stiles again.

 

“I’m alive,” Stiles whispers, taking a step closer to Derek, dangerously close - _no, not dangerous anymore_ \- so that their chests are practically touching and he can almost feel Stiles’ breath on his face.

 

Derek brings up his free hand, crossing the bridge between them as he lets his fingertip rest on the tip of Stiles’ nose, just like he did when he brought him back to life.

 

“You like my nose,” Stiles grins, as Derek’s fingers travel to caress Stiles’ cheek. Derek stares at Stiles’ face in wonder, at his own fingers tracing from mole to mole, over soft blushed skin. Derek watches as Stiles swallows, his lips falling apart slightly, gaze fixed on Derek, and Derek can’t help but let his thumb wander over to Stiles’ bottom lip, grazing it softly. His skin feels on fire where he’s touching Stiles’, the tip of his finger brushing up against Stiles’ cupid’s bow.

 

“Your skin is so soft,” Derek whispers in awe, and the tip of Stiles’ tongue snakes out and swipes against Derek’s thumb, making his breath catch in his throat.

 

“Derek…” Stiles mumbles, his lips vibrating against Derek’s finger.

 

And then Stiles leans in, even closer, and Derek lets his hand slide over to cup Stiles’ jaw just in time for Stiles to press his lips against Derek’s. The initial contact is hesitant, just a brush of lips against lips, like they’re both just trying to wrap their heads around the fact that this is real. Derek can feel Stiles’ breath against his lips, warm and inviting. He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but suddenly Stiles’ hand is gingerly touching Derek’s neck, and it feels like a jump start for them both as Stiles presses his entire body against Derek’s and Derek catches Stiles’ bottom lip between his, swiping his tongue over it. Stiles feels like he’s _buzzing_ in Derek’s arms, opening his mouth eagerly as Derek traces the edges of his lips with his tongue. There’s nothing left of the hesitance, both of them pressed up against each other as if they’re trying to devour the other, trying to map out their mouths, trying to overdose on each other’s tastes.

 

Stiles tastes like traces of sweet and coffee and warmth and love. His lips are enchanting, every move of them against Derek’s makes Derek want to burst out in tears of happiness. Stiles’ hand is gripping the nape of Derek’s neck, the only thing grounding him. There’s a sound that escapes Derek’s throat as Stiles’ tongue is caressing his, but Stiles seems to like it because his other hand comes up to grip Derek’s shirt, at his side, and pulls him even closer. Derek nips at Stiles’ lips, once, twice, infinite times. Until Stiles just presses his lips against his, forcefully, desperately, without moving. When he finally pulls back, after what seems like forever, Stiles throws his arms around Derek’s neck tightly, burying his face behind Derek’s ear, holding onto him.

 

Derek’s arms wrap around Stiles’ waist, pressing his nose against Stiles’ neck and breathing him in. His lungs fill with the scent of Stiles, and Derek has never felt so complete in his entire life.

 

“Derek…” Stiles mutters against him, “Derek…”

 

“I’m here,” Derek whispers, his lips against Stiles’ skin.

 

“I want you so badly,” Stiles whispers, tilting his hips forward, against Derek’s, as if to make a point.

 

Stiles is hard, grinding himself against Derek’s hip, and the heat shoots down to Derek’s groin as he bites his lip to stop himself from coming right there and then.

 

“So badly,” Stiles mutters, dropping kisses along Derek’s jawline, rubbing his nose against the stubble.

 

“Oh God,” Derek breathes out, sliding his hands underneath Stiles’ butt and lifting him up. Stiles wraps his legs around Derek’s waist immediately, and Derek tries to ignore the way his own hard-on is trapped inside his boxers as he walks Stiles over to the couch in the living room, dropping him down on it.

 

Derek wastes no time in plastering himself over Stiles’ body, his mouth instantly finding Stiles’ and capturing it. He grinds down his hips, revelling in the whimpering sounds it elicits from Stiles. Stiles, who is firm and warm underneath Derek. Stiles, whose hands are slipping underneath Derek’s shirt, trailing over Derek’s spine, making him shiver.

 

Derek gasps for air, rubbing his jaw against Stiles’ cheek, Stiles’ eyelashes fluttering against his skin. And Derek just needs to feel, needs to map out every inch of Stiles’ skin, needs to know what every mole and every curve tastes like. He needs to know all the sounds that Stiles makes when Derek touches him… softly, teasingly, roughly, clumsily, with purpose, and absentmindedly. He needs to learn it all. Needs to commit it all to memory.

 

Derek’s hand trails down Stiles’ chest, lifting up his shirt so he can caress Stiles’ stomach. He pulls his head away far enough so he can stare into Stiles’ eyes as he teases his fingers through Stiles’ happy trail, asking permission.

 

“I gotta warn you…” Stiles breathes out, a ridiculous smile plastered all over his face, “The second you touch my dick, I’m probably gonna come.”

 

Derek huffs out a laugh. “You don’t honestly think I’m gonna last much longer, right?”

 

Stiles’ answer is to press another kiss to Derek’s lips.

 

“I’ve been wanting this for so long…” Derek says, his fingers carefully dragging down, to the waistband of Stiles’ pants.

 

“I, just…” Stiles says, breathing heavily as he tilts his hips up, his eyes continuously going from Derek’s mouth to his eyes. Then he tugs at Derek’s shirt, pulling it up over his head. “I guess it’s safe to say this will be a frantic quickie, and we’ll take our sweet, sweet time next time?”

 

“Next time?” Derek grins, breathlessly, as he fumbles to get the button of Stiles’ pants open.

 

“Oh yeah,” Stiles smiles back, reaching for Derek’s pants. “And the time after that, and after that. And all the times in between.”

 

“Sounds perfect,” Derek says, then crushes his mouth back onto Stiles’ as he reaches inside of Stiles’ pants, wrapping his fingers around his hard cock.

 

Stiles gasps against his mouth, bucking his hips up. He’s hot and heavy inside Derek’s hand, leaking pre-come already. Stiles’ kiss turns clumsy, distracted by Derek’s fingers stroking over his dick but Derek doesn’t mind. In fact, it might just be the hottest thing he’s ever experienced.

 

“Fuck,” Stiles mutters, zipping open Derek’s pants and sticking his hand in, his palm curling around Derek’s cock.

 

Derek whimpers at the sensation of Stiles’ warm hand squeezing the tip of his hard dick, and Derek knows that they were right… they’re not going to last long. Stiles’ grip is firm and deliberate, his wrist twisting as he strokes down, and… as Derek stares down at Stiles, his lips slightly parted, a string of saliva hanging between them, his eyes half closed but looking up at Derek from under long lashes, his face a picture of pure ecstasy… Derek’s orgasm rips from him without warning, spilling all over Stiles’ hand.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles mutters, his hips swaying up, thrusting into Derek’s fist.

 

Derek catches Stiles’ lips again, brushing against them as Stiles grips his hands on Derek’s sides and comes, a shuddering moan falling from his mouth. Derek sags down half on top of Stiles, breathing heavily against the skin of Stiles’ neck. They stay silent for a while, while Derek listens to Stiles’ breathing, to the feel of his heartbeat underneath Derek’s palm, his thumb rubbing small circles against Stiles’ skin.

 

Stiles’ fingers are stroking through Derek’s slightly sweaty hair, playing with the strands, carressing against his scalp.

 

“We need to do this every single free moment we have…” Stiles laughs out eventually, still a little breathless.

 

“Catch up on lost time,” Derek nods, nosing against Stiles’ jawline. “I couldn’t agree more.”

 

“Derek?” Stiles whispers after another moment.

 

Derek hums, pressing his face a little closer against Stiles’.

 

“Thank you,” Stiles says softly, his hand resting on top of Derek’s back.

 

“I didn’t do anything,” Derek mumbles, pressing a soft kiss against Stiles’ jaw.

 

“You did everything…” Stiles whispers, and he tilts his head to brush his lips against Derek’s one more time. And another. And another.

 

***

 

Derek doesn’t know who to thank that both he and Stiles are freshly showered and in clean clothes by the time the sheriff comes pounding on the door, frantically.

 

“Gościsław!” he’s yelling out as his fists keep banging on the door, and Derek can see Stiles cringe at the use of the name and how panicked his dad’s voice sounds.

 

Derek rushes to open the door, while Stiles braces himself with a deep breath. Stiles, whose hair is still wet from the shower, and who is wearing Derek’s slightly too big clothes.

 

“Stiles!” John calls out as he all but barges through the door, heading straight for Stiles.

 

Derek thinks he should probably be grateful to be pretty much ignored.

 

“I’m fine, Dad,” Stiles says, as John grips his shoulders, like he’s trying to figure out if Stiles really is okay.

 

“I told you not to come here!” John says, his voice wavering, and Derek tries hard to keep in mind that the sheriff’s just doing this out of love for Stiles.

 

“And I told you that was not an option,” Stiles says, patiently but firmly. The words go straight to Derek’s heart, and he can’t help but smile fondly at Stiles.

 

“We’ve talked about this!” John starts, “You can’t let your own- ”

 

“Dad!” Stiles interrupts him, and he immediately reaches out to Derek, grabbing his hand firmly in his own.

 

John’s breath hitches in his throat, his eyes go wide and panicked.

 

“It’s fine,” Stiles says, holding up their joined hands to show his father. “It worked. What Deucalion did worked.”

 

John’s eyes are glued to Stiles and Derek’s hands, and he swallows hard.

 

“But what if there’s a delay…?” John asks, frown lines covering his forehead. “What if - ?”

 

“Dad, not to give away too many details or anything, but with the amount of touching we’ve been doing since I got here, I’d be dead by now if it was just a matter of a delay,” Stiles says, and Derek thinks his own flushed cheeks probably match up nicely with the sheriff’s. “Besides, Roscoe’s still fine too. It really is okay.”

 

“Oh my God…” John breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“I’m sorry I came here after you asked me not to,” Stiles says, letting go of Derek’s hand and putting a comforting hand on John’s shoulder. “But Derek is it for me. I can’t imagine my life without him anymore. And after all the time we’ve spent not being able to touch… You don’t know what it was like, Dad.”

 

“Your life, Stiles…” John whispers, and Derek recognizes the pain of a man who knows what it’s like to lose everything.

 

“Is still my life to live,” Stiles says, and it probably comes out more snappish than Stiles intended it to.

 

“Stiles…” Derek says, seeing John’s face fall at Stiles’ tone. He puts his hand on Stiles’ side, squeezing slightly. “Try to keep in mind that your father spent all this time thinking you were dead. He had nobody left…”

 

Stiles’ face softens at Derek’s words, a shadow of guilt clouding it for a second.

 

“I’m sorry, dad,” Stiles says, reaching out to his father, “I didn’t mean to worry you, or hurt you.”

 

“I understand,” John says, shaking his head, plastering on a brave face again.

 

“Why don’t we go downstairs and have some pie, and just be grateful for the way things turned out, huh?” Derek gives a reassuring smile at John, and he’s glad to see it returned.

 

“That sounds like a plan,” Stiles says, patting John on the shoulder as he reaches for Derek’s hand again - and oh my God, Derek is never ever getting used to the feeling of Stiles’ fingers threaded through his.

 

“I do expect these pies to be on the house,” John says, so casually and nonchalantly that it takes Derek by surprise for a bit.

 

Then John’s face breaks out in a grin, and Derek can’t help but let out a relieved sigh.

 

“Welcome to the Stilinski family, Derek,” Stiles says, his eyes twinkling. “You’re pretty much stuck feeding us free pie from now on.”

 

“I think I can live with that,” Derek says, because he really thinks he can.

 

“You’ll have to,” Stiles smirks, “After the way you scared my father.”

 

“True,” John mutters in agreement, and Derek is beginning to understand that these Stilinski men might be a handful once they start teaming up.

 

“The way _I_ scared him, huh?” Derek says, quirking an eyebrow as they head out of the apartment.

 

“Of course,” Stiles says, but he squeezes his fingers a little bit tighter in Derek’s.

 

John just laughs.

 

“Melissa should be coming by for deliveries in a bit,” Derek teases, because he too can play that game, and he watches John’s cheeks redden almost instantaneously.

 

“Interesting…” Stiles says, giving his father a smirk.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” John mutters, and his pace picks up a bit as he heads down the stairs.

 

“I see huge weekly family dinners here at The Pie Hole in our future,” Stiles whispers at Derek, and Derek can’t help but think that sounds incredibly nice.

 

“I can definitely live with that,” Derek nods.

 

“Hey, and guess what?” Stiles asks, stopping Derek at the bottom of the stairs.

 

“What?” Derek asks.

 

“Thanks to you, now so can I,” Stiles answers, and the only way Derek sees fit to respond is by pressing his lips up against Stiles’ in a soft kiss.

 

***

 

Stiles is still wearing Derek’s slightly oversized clothes at the end of the day, and it’s a good look on him.

 

They spent most of the afternoon down in the restaurant, just hanging out. The sheriff put Deucalion behind bars - for now. Allison and her father pretty much earned free pie for the rest of their lives - not that Allison spent much time paying for her orders anyway. And Scott and Stiles seem stoked that their parents are hitting it off so well. Stiles has warned Derek that his father’s seduction moves will probably go at glacial speed, since he’s a bit rusty ever since his wife’s death. But Melissa doesn’t look like the type of woman to be deterred by that, so Derek figures it will all end up okay.

 

And now Derek is finding himself staring at Stiles - once again - as he’s toeing off his sneakers in the bedroom. Stiles, who moves gracefully in his clumsiness, who runs his hand through his hair and Derek thinks, ‘I can do that too now.’ Stiles, with the slender fingers and the porcelain skin and the magical glow and Derek can touch it all now…

 

“What?” Stiles asks, amused, as he catches Derek’s gaze.

 

“We’re finally here,” Derek says, and he knows Stiles knows he doesn’t just mean ‘the bedroom’. “And I’m so overwhelmed I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do now.”

 

Stiles’ face softens at that, he bites his lip as he regards Derek for a second, before taking a few steps closer, and it’s like something out of a fantasy.

 

“You’re not _supposed_ to do anything,” Stiles says, trailing his fingertip over Derek’s forearm, and the touch leaves a path of goosebumps in its wake. “You _can_ do anything, though.” Stiles’ voice is warm, inviting, but there’s a hint of coyness in there that reaches Derek all over, down into his little toes. Derek takes one of Stiles’ hands in his, brings it up to brush his lips over. He presses his nose against the back of Stiles’ hand, just reveling in the touch, the smell, the taste.

 

“I just want you,” Derek whispers, closing his eyes as Stiles’ palm cups his cheek, thumb scratching over stubble.

 

“You have me,” Stiles says, and then his lips are covering Derek’s.

 

The kiss is languid, and it reminds Derek of the promise they made earlier, of all the time they would take. Because Derek wants to explore, wants to spend hours and days with his lips, his tongue, his hands on Stiles’ skin. And Derek wants to make good on that promise, letting his hand slide under Stiles’ - _Derek_ ’s - shirt, over Stiles’ side, over his ribs, until his thumb grazes Stiles’ nipple and Stiles presses up against him in return with a slightly out of breath chuckle. Stiles’ fingers disappear into Derek’s hair, running up against the strands, sending a shiver down Derek’s spine.

 

“I wanna undress you…” Stiles says against Derek’s lips, his breath tingling.

 

And Derek can only nod in response, staring at Stiles as he gingerly lifts up Derek’s shirt, taking in every inch of newly exposed skin in wonder.

 

“Your face…” Derek whispers, before he can help it, and Stiles’ gaze goes from Derek’s torso to meet his. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, but there’s even more wonder in it, and Derek thinks it must be a perfect reflection of what his own look like.

 

“I’ll never get tired of the way you look at me,” Stiles says, and then his tongue sneaks out to wet his bottom lip and Derek is simply lost.

 

“I’ll never get tired of looking at you,” Derek says, his hand sliding over Stiles’ hip.

 

“Will you get tired of touching me?” Stiles asks, the edge of his mouth tugging up as his eyes stay fixed on Derek’s.

 

Derek draws his fingers over Stiles’ side, feeling the muscles flex under his touch.

 

“I haven’t even begun…” Derek whispers, shaking his head minutely.

 

Stiles lifts his arms up eagerly as Derek pulls off Stiles’ shirt, revealing miles and miles of perfect skin that Derek feels he could get lost in. Derek lets his hands roam freely, over the planes of Stiles’ stomach, up his chest. He leans down to press a kiss on Stiles’ collarbone, to snake out his tongue to lick at the dip of it.

 

Stiles’ hand is firm and warm on the back of his neck, grounding him and pulling him in at the same time. A simple tightening of his fingers on Derek’s skin is enough to make Derek’s cock spring to life, hardening more with every single touch and kiss.

 

When Derek pulls Stiles flush against him, catching him in a burning kiss, he can feel Stiles is hard as well, pressing against the bow of his hip, and Derek grins into the kiss. There’s a small, content hum that gets swallowed by Derek as Stiles starts circling his hips against Derek’s, desperate for friction.

 

Derek lets his hands slide down, over the small of Stiles’ back, fingertips disappearing into the waistband of Stiles’ pants, slowly pushing them down. For a second, Stiles seems torn between tilting his hips forward, against Derek’s body, or back into the curve of Derek’s palms. But then Derek breaks the kiss, dropping a lingering one on the side of Stiles’ mouth before slowly sinking to his knees. He pushes Stiles’ pants down his waist, his thighs, until his hard dick springs free, bopping against his stomach.

 

Stiles steps out of his pants, looking down at Derek through clouded eyes, his mouth hanging slack. Derek keeps his eyes fixed on Stiles’ face as he leans in, brushing his lips against the tip of Stiles’ cock. It provokes a shuddering breath from Stiles, and Derek grins up at him, his hand wrapped around the base of Stiles’ dick as he twirls his tongue around the head, revelling in the salty taste and the sweet looks he’s getting.

 

Derek can’t help but let his free hand cup around Stiles’ ass, gingerly caressing Stiles’ skin, his finger teasing between the cleft ever so lightly. Lean fingers find their way into Derek’s hair as he takes Stiles into his mouth as far as he can, his dick heavy and warm upon Derek’s tongue. Derek cups Stiles’ balls, fingertip applying just enough pressure against Stiles’ perineum to make Stiles gasp as his hips twitch.

 

“Derek…” Stiles whispers, almost pleading, and Derek looks up just in time to see Stiles swallow down, _hard_ , and then his lips part again as he throws his head back and it’s quite simply sinful.

 

When he finally looks down again, Derek raises his eyebrows, lips sealed around the tip of Stiles’ cock as he sucks, his fingers toying between Stiles’ cheeks.

 

“Y’finger…” Stiles whispers, eyelashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks, and Derek doesn’t waste any time in slipping his index finger between Stiles’ cheeks and pressing it against his opening.

 

Stiles sucks his bottom lip between his teeth as Derek presses in, engulfed by Stiles’ heat. Derek wants to tell Stiles not to hold in the sounds, because he wants to hear him, wants to store away every little noise Stiles makes, but he’s too busy sucking around Stiles’ dick, pressing his tongue against the slit, feeling Stiles’ cock pulse in his mouth. He crooks his finger, finally provoking little pants from Stiles’ lips. And it’s all Derek ever wanted. For all the time he’s spent looking at Stiles and not being able to touch, he still can’t keep his eyes off Stiles now. The rippling of the muscles of his stomach as Derek takes Stiles into his mouth as deep as he can. The fluttering of his eyelashes as he looks back down at Derek. The shine of spit resting on the perfect bow of his lips.

 

Derek has had sex before. Enjoyable sex - and not so enjoyable. But never has it been like this, and his own cock hasn’t even been touched yet.

 

“Derek…” Stiles whispers, his fingers scratching in the hairs behind Derek’s ear.

 

Derek lets Stiles’ cock drop out of his mouth with a wet pop, and Stiles says, “Bed. Let’s just… bed.”

 

Derek nods, then leans in once again to nuzzle his face in the vee next to Stiles’ cock.

 

“I just need you to fuck me,” Stiles breathes out, and who is Derek to argue with that?

 

He gets up off the ground, falling straight into Stiles’ open arms and willing lips. Stiles’ fingers scramble for Derek’s pants, freeing him - _finally_ \- and curving them around Derek’s straining dick.

 

“I need you to never let me go again,” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s cheek, rubbing his face against skin and stubble and all but purring like a kitten.

 

“Never…” Derek whispers, and he means it so much the words tug at his heart.

 

He guides Stiles towards the bed, not once losing contact as he peppers kisses over Stiles’ jawline, splays his fingers over the small of Stiles’ back.

 

“I need you to never want me to,” Derek whispers, and it feels like he’s baring his soul to Stiles, but it comes so naturally.

 

“Never,” Stiles says instantaneously, holding Derek closer to him as if to prove his words.

 

And then Stiles is spreading himself out on the bed, gripping Derek’s hand in his as to not lose contact, and Derek drapes himself all over Stiles.

 

“Like this?” Derek asks, feeling a little lightheaded at the sight of Stiles sprawled out underneath him.

 

“I wanna see your face,” Stiles smiles, thumb caressing over Derek’s jawline.

 

Derek’s answer is to capture Stiles’ mouth into a kiss again, tongue sliding at the seam of his lips, access granted immediately. He maps out Stiles’ tongue with his own, as Stiles starts stroking Derek’s cock, slowly, lazily.

 

They keep kissing as Derek slowly stretches Stiles open, legs spread wide for him, hands roaming over Derek’s body, hitching or applying more pressure every now and then, when Derek adds another finger or hits the right spot.

 

Eventually, Stiles rolls a condom over Derek’s dick, slicking it up with lube before wiping his hands on the sheets. He lays back, his legs spread wide and his knees up, and Derek slots himself over Stiles’ body. He runs his hands over Stiles’ thighs, lets his fingernails scrape over the skin to make Stiles shudder beneath him, before gripping the base of his dick and lining himself up with Stiles’ opening.

 

Stiles lets out little gasps as the head of Derek’s cock pushes past the rim, and Jesus, Stiles is so tight and hot that Derek has to pause for a second not to come right there and then. His hands curve around Stiles’ thighs, holding him close as he pushes in completely, choking on air as he bottoms out, nearly collapsing on top of Stiles. He brings up his arms, leaning on his elbows on either side of Stiles’ head. There are hands on Derek’s back, stroking gently up and down his spine, as Stiles brushes his lips over Derek’s, and Derek slowly starts to move. His thrusts are lingering and deliberate, he wants to make this last. The heat of Stiles around his cock, of his arms surrounding him… it’s all Derek’s ever wanted.

 

Stiles brings up one of his hands, his fingers sliding underneath Derek’s, until they’re tangled between them, holding on. Derek drags his lips over Stiles’, lush and wet and they taste like a hint of pie and Stiles. Stiles lifts up his legs, wraps them around Derek as if he wants to get even closer, wants to crawl inside of his skin, and Derek would let him if he could. Any space between them is too much space, and Derek curls over him until their chests are aligned and Stiles’ calves are around Derek’s back. Derek slips his arm underneath Stiles’ shoulders, his hand resting on the nape of his neck.

 

“I knew - ” Stiles breathes, stops mid-sentence to crush his lips against Derek’s before going on. “I knew you’d be perfect.”

 

“‘m not,” Derek mumbles, nipping at Stiles’ bottom lip.

 

He’s slowly thrusting into Stiles, speeding up ever so slightly.

 

“You are,” Stiles whispers, nosing along his jawline, dropping little kisses on his way. “You are…”

 

“If I am...” Derek says, twisting his hips as he thrusts back into Stiles, trying to make it good for him, oh so good, “... it’s because of you.”

 

Stiles shakes his head, forehead brushing against Derek’s cheek as he does so.

 

“‘cause of _us_ ,” he says, and he sounds utterly wrecked.

 

Stiles’ cock is trapped between their stomachs, but he makes no move to reach for it, busying his hands instead by running them through Derek’s hair, by trailing his fingernails over Derek’s skin, by twisting his fingers between Derek’s, holding on tight.

 

Derek feels a familiar tightening in his balls, feels the fire in the pit of his stomach, and it’s Stiles. It’s all Stiles.

 

He can feel Stiles clench around his cock, feels him canting his hips just so, to match each and every thrust. And Derek can’t help but think that yes, they are perfectly matched.

 

“God, Stiles…” Derek whispers, resting his forehead against Stiles’, rocking into him harder to raise whimpering sounds from his mouth.

 

He’s staring into Stiles eyes, blurred because of the lack of space between them, but Stiles is staring back, his eyes locked on Derek’s. It’s love that Derek sees and he knows Stiles must be seeing the same.

 

And then Stiles seizes up and comes, spurting between their stomachs, completely untouched and without warning. His arms are wrapped around Derek’s neck, and he’s clinging to him like his life depends on it, as he rides out his climax with his face pressed in the crook of Derek’s neck.

 

“ _Jesus_ , Stiles,” Derek breathes out, the way Stiles’ muscles clench around Derek making his hips twitch. “The things you do to me…”

 

Stiles’ response is to pepper kisses against Derek’s neck, nosing underneath his jawline, as he never ever lets go of the tight embrace he’s got on Derek.

 

“C’mon,” Stiles mutters, still out of breath, his nose pressed against the grain of Derek’s stubble. “Come inside me, Der…”

 

As if to put power to his words, Stiles clenches his muscles around Derek, jerking his hips as Derek pushes back in and he collapses on top of Stiles as he comes deep inside him. Stiles’ hands keep smoothing down his back, up his neck, keep touching him all the way as he rides through his climax.

 

There’s heavy breathing filling the room, and Derek’s skin is sticky and sweaty against Stiles’, but he’s never felt better or more alive than in this moment.

 

“I must be crushing you,” Derek says when he finally catches his breath, Stiles’ calf slowly sliding down Derek’s thigh.

 

He can feel Stiles shake his head against his neck.

 

“The only thing that would crush me would be if you moved off me,” Stiles whispers, his lips tickling against Derek’s skin.

 

Derek lifts his head at Stiles’ words, just enough to be able to look him in the eye. His hands are bracketing Stiles’ head, fingers slicking back sweaty strands of hair.

 

“I love you,” Derek says, even though he knows it’s a cheesy thing to say during sex - after sex, whatever - but the words simply need to get out because they’re so real Derek feels he might explode if he holds them in any longer.

 

Stiles’ eyes are wide and scintillating, his lips edging up in a smile.

 

“Derek…” he says, like he wants to feel the name on his lips.

 

“Yeah?” Derek whispers, thumb tracing gingerly over the mole above Stiles’ eyebrow.

 

“I love you too,” Stiles whispers back, a content smile tugging at his lips.

 

The kiss is almost chaste in comparison to their position, but it feels more real than anything Derek has ever experienced.

 

“At some point, I’m probably gonna have to move,” Derek whispers.

 

“Nah,” Stiles smiles, drawing his arms a little tighter around Derek’s neck. “We can totally stay like this forever.”

 

“Okay,” Derek nods, returning the smile. “Okay…”

 

Because touching Stiles forever does sound good. Perfect even.

 

***

 

“He’s still tagging along?” Allison asks, raising an eyebrow as Stiles gets out of the car alongside Derek.

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Stiles asks, frowning at her.

 

“Don’t you have, like… a life now?” Allison asks, smirking.

 

“Does that imply Derek really doesn’t have a life?” Stiles smirks back.

 

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Derek says, and he catches himself on a moment’s hesitation before he puts his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck and squeezes briefly. Old habits die hard, he guesses.

 

“So what’s the deal?” Derek asks, as he lets them be led inside the morgue by Allison.

 

“Married couple,” Allison says, guiding them into the room with the coolers.

 

“Both of them?” Derek asks, looking down at the two bodies laying side by side, covered in white sheets.

 

“Yep,” Allison says, pulling back the sheets to reveal the man and woman. “They were both found at the bottom of the stairs in their home. Family wants to know what happened.”

 

“This is so romantic though,” Stiles says, smiling down at the couple.

 

“Excuse me?” Allison quirks an eyebrow.

 

“No, but think about it!” Stiles says, enthusiastically. “They both died at the same time. They probably didn’t have time to say goodbye. But we can give them that!”

 

Derek can’t help but smile at Stiles’ delight.

 

“We can give them a final moment together,” Stiles says, positively beaming, now looking at Derek. “Think of the heartfelt confessions of love! The dramatic goodbyes!”

 

Derek shakes his head, amused.

 

“You do realize they’re still gonna die, right?” Allison asks.

 

“But we’re giving them that one final perfect moment!” Stiles says.

 

“ _I_ ’m giving them…” Derek says, faux-smug.

 

“Work your magic, boo,” Stiles smirks, dropping a kiss on Derek’s lips.

 

Derek pretends he doesn’t see Allison rolling her eyes exasperatedly, and starts the timer on his watch before touching the man and woman’s shoulders at the same time.

 

“Wha - ?” the man says, bolting upright.

 

“What the hell is going on?” the woman asks, regarding them all funnily.

 

“You died,” Stiles says, and Derek thinks he really shouldn’t be so joyous when saying stuff like that. “But you’re getting a chance to say goodbye now. To say all those things you still wanted to say.”

 

“ _Goodbye_?” the man says, outraged, “She pushed me down the stairs!”

 

“You dragged me with you!” the woman shouts, indignant.

 

“Wow,” Derek says, his eyes wide, because he sure as hell didn’t see this coming.

 

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you kill me without putting up a fight!” the man yells back, his face red in anger.

 

“Guys…” Stiles tries, running his hands through his hair as he stares wide-eyed at the fighting couple.

 

“When have you ever put up a fight for anything?” the woman scoffs, “You’re the laziest ass I’ve ever known in my entire life!”

 

“I was good enough to pay the bills, wasn’t I?” the man spits out, “You manipulative bit - ”

 

“ _Okay_!” Derek calls out, grabbing both the man and woman by the arm at the same time, and they fall flat on the slab again, lifeless.

 

The three of them stare at the couple for a few moments, until Allison bursts out in laughter.

 

“Don’t,” Stiles says, his finger up in warning, his face flushed.

 

Allison just laughs harder. “ _Think of the heartfelt confessions of love_ ,” Allison quotes, mimicking Stiles’ voice.

 

“How was I supposed to know?” Stiles throws up his hands.

 

“ _It’ll be so romantic_ ,” Allison goes on, cackling as she heads for the exit.

 

“I hate you!” Stiles calls out after her, then shoots Derek a stern look when he, too, starts to chuckle. “ _Et tu_ , boyfriend?” Stiles narrows his eyes at him.

 

“I’m sorry!” Derek says, pressing himself up against Stiles.

 

“That was really sad,” Stiles says, waving his hand at the motionless couple.

 

“I know,” Derek says, nuzzling Stiles’ temple. “You were just really cute.”

 

Stiles huffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

 

“You’re the eternal romantic, and I love that,” Derek says, bringing his arms up to circle around Stiles.

 

Stiles presses his lips together in a slight pout, regarding Derek from the corner of his eyes.

 

“Cute, huh?” he asks, and Derek can see the unmistaken beginning of a smile forming.

 

“The cutest,” Derek says without missing a beat.

 

“Promise me we’ll never end up at the bottom of the stairs together?” Stiles says, unfolding his arms to grip Derek by the shirt.

 

“Never,” Derek says, and he’s rewarded by the sweetest kiss.

 

***

 

The End

 


End file.
